World War Zero
by BellCissa
Summary: Dark forces are at work in our world. Lord Voldemort has acquired two new allies by the names of Erik Lehnsherr and Nathaniel Essex, and the trio wishes to put both wizards and mutants in their rightful place: in control. Can Harry, the Order, and the X-Men unite to protect everything they hold dear? (M for violence, language, drug/alcohol use, and lemons [ch13 ]. Very DE-centered)
1. Hit the Floor

**AUTHOR'S NOTE. World War Zero is a fanfiction transcription of a live RP. The efforts of many people have combined to produce the story you see, and each of these people has a unique style of writing thought and dialogue. We do not own Harry Potter or X-Men, and we have the highest respect for J.K. Rowling, Stan Lee, and everyone involved in the creation of both of these worlds. We mean no copyright infringement. Also, we do not own the chapter titles. Each chapter is named after a song by a various artist. Sometimes the lyrics are relevant and may be very helpful in setting the tone, but sometimes it's just the title that connects. It varies. All right, so basically, the original characters are ours, but we don't own the universes in which they live, and the plot is the brainchild of several committed RPers. I think that's it. We hope you enjoy, and please feel free to review, etc. We would greatly appreciate it. ****Chapter title from the song by Bullet For My Valentine.**

**xNarcissa**

* * *

**Chapter One**

**Hit the Floor**

The footfalls of the two women on the path were the only sounds in the bleak air of the gray summer morning. They moved along the immense wrought-iron gates guarding the ancient, stone-hewn mansion, their steps synchronized and their cloaks in stark contrast. The woman on the left wore black, and her companion would never be seen in anything but white. The first was known as Selene, and the second was Emma Frost, the White Queen of the Hellfire Club.

Emma drew her pale hood tighter around her face to shut out the uncharacteristically cold Wiltshire air. She had never known a summer day to be so bitter. Perhaps the sun itself knew the darkness at work today and was hiding itself from the evils crawling out of the very crevices of the Earth.

Perhaps the Weather Witch was responsible.

Emma forced her thoughts away from such negativity. Of course Storm had nothing to do with the melancholy of this morning. The X-Men had no idea what Emma and her colleagues were planning; they would be as shocked and terrified as the rest of the world, when the Hellfire Club's plans came to fruition.

_It's almost time,_ Emma thought, relishing the notion of seeing, at last, something productive occur from the plotting and maneuvering and strategizing. She could not recall when the beginnings of this plan had formed in the mind of Sebastian Shaw, the Club's Black King, but it seemed eons before this first step had been put into motion.

Virtutem. That was what Sebastian called it–Operation Virtutem. For the life of her, Emma couldn't fathom why he had chosen such a ridiculous name for such a serious and scandalous operation, but she knew it was better not to question Sebastian's motives if she valued her social standing.

Or her life.

To the outside world, the Hellfire Club must have appeared a group of privileged men and women bent on world domination. This was, for the most part, true, as Emma would admit. But the members did not coexist as peacefully as one might imagine for an organization with a goal that necessitated such harmony and cooperation among its ranks. It was barely noticed when a member disappeared, his or her post taken on either by another of lesser rank or a new recruit. Emma liked to think that her… 'special connection' to Sebastian precluded any fear of her own disappearance. She liked to believe that he would never cut her off like so much dead weight if she failed at a task of importance.

Emma Frost had never really had the luxury of believing in fairy tales. Love, she knew, would not save her. Success, on the other hand, just might.

Her eyes alit on a white peacock strutting along within the manor's gates, and she paused, her head tilting to the side. _That's something I've never thought about having as a pet. I wonder if Sebastian would mind–_

"Will you hurry, already? I won't keep waiting for you."

The cold alto voice of Selene Gallio drew Emma from her thoughts, and she resumed her course at a pace just under that which she had abandoned. Emma rolled her eyes. _I can't believe they paired me with _her. _The Shaws know we can't stand each other. But it doesn't matter. It's our mission, and objecting wouldn't have helped my situation. _

"I'm coming," she snapped hotly, drawing her hood nearer to her face.

They walked the remainder of the way to the gates' entrance in silence. Selene stopped first, and Emma fell in at her side.

"You're on," said the White Queen.

Selene raised a dark eyebrow, her face set in a smirk. "What, dear Emma, too weak to handle one little gate?"

"I thought I'd be courteous," Emma fired back. "Oh, wait; is that word too big for you?"

Selene ignored her. The dark-hooded woman focused instead on the gate, staring it down as though doing so would make it disappear. This wasn't far from the truth, Emma knew. The gate would not disappear, but it would soon be out of their way.

Or perhaps not. The gate did not budge.

"Is, ah, that supposed to happen?"

Selene said nothing. She frowned heavily, visibly funneling all of her concentration into willing the gate to move. Several seconds passed, and the creak of iron broke the uncomfortable silence. Emma turned to see what had become of the barrier, and her mouth twitched upward in a satisfied half-grin.

"Well, it's getting there. It moved about an inch."

"I swear, Emma, I'll kill you if you don't shut it. Sebastian will believe me when I said it was necessary."

Emma scowled. She folded her arms over her bustier-clad chest and spoke no more. She watched as Selene's face relaxed; she was withdrawing her power from the gate. There was an air pressure shift, and Emma knew what was to follow. She took several steps away from the gate, backing along the path the pair had taken to reach it. No sooner had she come to a halt than the gate spontaneously combusted a few feet from where she had been standing.

"Shall we go?" asked Selene pleasantly. She stepped forward, and the gates swung open at her approach. She did not look back to see if Emma was following, but the White Queen knew better than to desert her mission, no matter how insufferable the other woman was.

The Black Queen led Emma up the path, along the hedges and past impeccably manicured trees and shrubs. The peacocks moving quirkily along the foliage might have made Emma laugh, had her mood not already been so incurably sour.

After several minutes, the duo reached the front doors. Selene reached out and turned the knob, but it did not budge.

"Would you like me to get this one for you, too, dear?"

"Move," Emma snarled. She willed her right hand to shift into diamond form, and she watched as her skin crystallized and became transparent. She grabbed the knob and twisted, managing to break it free from the door. With a swift kick from Emma's white boot, the door swung open.

"I'll be sure to tell the Kings you made yourself useful," said Selene sweetly.

"Just move your ass inside before I use my telepathy to convince you you're one of those peacocks and want to spend the rest of your life strutting around like an idiot. Oh, wait… you've already mastered one of those."

"What Sebastian sees in you I'll never know."

Her face set in a look of condescending revulsion, Selene crossed the threshold. Emma followed, not bothering to close the door. If all went according to plan, they would not be staying long.

The foyer within was lavish and beautiful; the decorations were expensive and perfectly coordinated. Chaise lounges and golden-upholstered armchairs lined the walkway and spilled into the sitting room beyond, which was adorned with priceless art and a fireplace tall enough for one to walk into.

"Isn't it lovely?" Emma breathed. Despite her distaste for her companion, Selene nodded. The interior of the mansion was breathtaking, despite the stony oppressiveness of its façade.

Emma's focus shifted to the mirror set into the wall beside the mantel. She crossed the polished marble floor to examine her reflection in the gilded glass, dropping her hood to allow herself a better view. She ran a hand through the straight, bleach blond hair that fell midway down her back, which, if not for her cloak, would have been only partially covered by the corset she wore. Lingerie was considered the uniform of the Hellfire Club. It wasn't as though Emma minded; she rather enjoyed how beautiful and self-assured she felt while wearing such attire in public. Her white boots reached her lower thighs, and she hadn't bothered with her gloves for this mission.

"Put your hood back on, you idiot. Someone might see you."

Emma sighed. She replaced the white hood on her head and looked away from her own ice-blue gaze to the portrait that hung on the opposite wall.

A young man stood in the foreground. His face was pointed, and his eyes were a pale grey. He wore a smirk that seemed to be a permanent fixture on his lips; the look dared her to challenge his rightful authority in this home or anywhere else. Behind him stood a pair that must be his parents, for they each bore such a strong resemblance to him, though neither looked old enough to have a son his age. The woman was blond, and her face held the aristocratic air that Emma had sought to master since her youth, though the look on this woman was obviously a natural part of her expression. Despite what could have been considered arrogance, there was a kindness in her eyes that turned Emma off to her instantly. Why would someone with such natural beauty and wealth waste time with kindness? It made no sense to Emma. This woman could easily have anything she wanted.

Upon looking to the far right of the portrait, Emma realized how right she was. The man who stood there was extremely attractive, with long, white-blond hair, grey eyes, and chiseled, high cheekbones. Emma felt a stab of white-hot jealousy. Surely the woman beside this man did not deserve him.

Selene cleared her throat. Emma turned to find that her companion had caught her staring.

"Aren't we looking for something?"

"I know," said Emma with a frustrated sigh. "You always rush things. You never stop to _enjoy_ what we're doing."

"I have a feeling the man in that portrait won't 'enjoy' your presence here when he figures out you're stealing his child. Now let's go."

Selene led the way up the stairs and to a long row of ornately-carved doors.

"Which one is–?"

"Shh."

Selene paused, searching for something. Emma closed her eyes to focus on locating their prey herself through her telepathy, bored of her companion's games. Not an instant had passed,

however, before a loud 'bang' pulled Emma's attention back to the present and the tangible plane. She opened her eyes to find that a door several paces down and to her right had fallen flat onto the floor.

"You're so crude," she chastised Selene, brushing past her to enter the room.

"I'm effective."

The Queens stood at the entrance to a pastel-colored nursery. The furniture within was as lavish as that of the floor below, including a beautifully carved rocking chair situated by the picture window opposite the pair.

Beside the window, her lovely face petrified, stood the woman from the portrait. She wore a flowing blue gown, and in her arms was a young female child, whom she was clutching to her protectively.

Emma and Selene's target.

Selene took a step forward. A tiny squeak entered the air from beneath her foot, and she bent down to retrieve the offending object: a teddy bear. She lifted it with two fingers, a look of pure disgust set on her face. A second later, the bear combusted in her hand.

"Hello, darling," said Selene to the woman. "I believe you have something we need."

Emma rolled her eyes as she glanced at the flaming bear. _What a show-off_, she thought with an irritated sigh. She then redirected her attention to the other blonde in the room.

"Give us the child," she said in a sugary-sweet tone, "and I give you my word that you will not be harmed."

The woman froze. She then produced a long object that looked rather like a stick from an inside pocket of her garments. "You will not touch her," she snarled. Clinging to her daughter with one arm, she pointed the stick Emma and then shifted it to Selene.

Selene raised a skeptical eyebrow and fought down a laugh. "Come now, dearie. We needn't fight." She smiled. "You wouldn't like the outcome."

The woman laughed coldly. "I disagree." She glanced to the crib, which was a few feet to her right. She then edged sideways, kissing the child on the forehead and placing her gently into the crib, all the while keeping the stick trained on Selene, and positioned herself between the queens and the baby.

"_CRUCIO!_" She yelled, slashing the stick at Selene, who laughed. The sound died in her throat as she fell to the ground writhing in what looked like incredible pain. Frowning in confusion and anger, Emma reached into her companion's mind to find an agony she had never before witnessed or endured. She shifted into her diamond form in order to avoid a similar attack and fired several psionic blasts at the woman's mind as Selene thrust her hand outward and sent shadows across the floor toward their enemy. The woman shouted "_DIFFINDO!_" as the stick was ripped from her hands, and a nearby pillow was slashed open and a line was rent in the carpet by the misplaced beam of light that had been headed for Selene.

"Whatever you did, girl," snarled the Black Queen as she pushed herself back to her feet, "was a horrible choice. I'll make sure this gets messy." She drifted across the room to the woman and grabbed her arm with exaggerated roughness. "Emma dear, make yourself useful and grab the child. I'm going to have a snack." Selene then returned her focus to the woman and began to telepathically suck the life from her body. The woman's lovely face contorted in pain, and she fell to her knees, kept from falling completely to the floor only by Selene's grip on her arm.

Emma's smirk returned, and she nodded. "With pleasure." She brushed past Selene and the woman and reached into the crib, lifting the child into her arms. "While you finish here, I'll take her back with me. Make it quick, if you would." Without another glance at either of them, Emma headed through the door and into the corridor outside.

She looked down into the face of the child, who was watching her with the same wide, blue eyes her mother possessed. Those eyes looked straight into Emma, and despite herself, she began to doubt what she had left the child's mother to. They had not been sent to kill the woman, only to take the child. Selene knew no mercy, and if she were left to her own devices, there would be an extra body lying around in no time for no reason at all.

With a sigh, Emma reentered the nursery and spoke directly into her companion's mind.

_Selene. Stop this, now. You're going to kill her, and I don't think Sebastian and Shinobi would be pleased with that. Let's go before anyone else returns._

Emma watched as the last of the woman's color left her cheeks, and she realized she could barely detect her thought patterns. She had already lost consciousness, and she couldn't have long left.

_Now,_ Emma telepathically ordered.

"Very well, Emma," Selene yelled, both out loud and into the White Queen's mind. "I'm on my way." She dropped the woman onto the floor and returned to Emma's side, her eyebrow quirked. "Weren't we leaving?"

Emma sighed. _I can't believe I have to deal with this… _She turned away from Selene, the nursery, and the dying woman and led the way from the room, the child in her arms.


	2. My Heart Is the Worst Kind of Weapon

**AUTHOR'S NOTE. Those Queens... yeah, they're terrible people. Anyway, this chapter is named after the Fall Out Boy song, which we don't own.  
**

**xNarcissa  
**

* * *

**Chapter Two**

**My Heart Is the Worst Kind of Weapon**

_Bloody anti-Apparition charms… so much more trouble than they're worth._

Lucius Malfoy sighed into the air that was empty apart from the sound of his walking stick clicking in time with his footsteps on the path. It had been necessary for him to appear several yards away from the outermost segment of Malfoy Manor's gates, which became exasperating rather quickly. Such security measures had been necessary implementations in recent months, with the Ministry of Magic cracking down on anyone and everyone it suspected of involvement with the Dark Lord.

Lucius was, of course, actually involved with the Dark Lord. He had all too recently served time in Azkaban Prison after a Death Eater mission gone awry within the halls of the Ministry itself, and so naturally his name had been irrevocably tarnished in the minds of the Wizarding World's general population and the Dark Lord himself.

Failure was not something the Dark Lord easily forgot. Lucius knew that all too well. And thoughts of Azkaban made him feel suddenly cold and broken.

He froze mid-step, a frown set on his lips as he drew a deep breath of the bleak summer air. A smell drifted on the breeze, and it smelled ominously like…

Lucius broke into a run, flying up the path and toward the front gates as fast as his legs would carry him. His heart pounded as he cut through the late-morning gloom toward what he knew beyond doubt was the smell of something burning. His grey eyes darted toward the entrance, from which plumes of smoke poured upward into the sky. After what felt like hours, he reached the gates, which had been blasted open and blazed with flames more intense than he believed he had ever witnessed.

"In the name of Merlin–" He whipped his wand from its sheath within his walking stick and slashed it in the direction of the flames. "_Aguamenti Maxima!_"

A deluge poured from the wand and into the fire, but it only served to subdue the flames the smallest amount. There was still no way through them.

Glancing from the flames to the Manor beyond, Lucius worked frantically through his options. He felt an unspeakable dread that something had transpired within the Manor's walls, but he could not Apparate inside. The fire had to be extinguished before he could ascertain if his family was safe.

With a frustrated cry, he ended the spell and ripped back his sleeve. Summoning the Dark Lord would only end in disaster, but perhaps some of the Death Eaters could be reached. Lucius pressed his index finger into the black mark imprinted on his forearm–that of a skull devouring a snake–and willed those to sense his distress who he thought would come to his aid.

Now he could only wait.

He sent another blast of water into the fire, the seconds ticking away slowly as he awaited some form of assistance, hoping against hope that someone would come. Minutes passed, and the roar of the flames precluded the possibility of hearing anyone's approach. Lucius glanced around frantically as sweat slipped down his face, fearing that he had been abandoned.

"What the bloody hell is all this, then?"

A familiarly scathing female voice drew his attention, and he turned just enough to see the dark hair and heavy-lidded eyes of his sister-in-law, who approached from behind him.

"Help me," he pleaded, too frightened and furious to bother arguing with Bellatrix. She must have noticed the difference in him, because the mocking which would have typically ensued was avoided altogether as she moved to his side to begin fighting back the flames.

"Lucius, vat ees ze matter? Vhy did zhou call–"

He knew without looking up that he and Bellatrix had been joined by Jolie Fier, half-Veela Death Eater and Lucius's former apprentice. He saw another jet of water form at the edge of his vision, and he was grateful for her presence. The three continued in their task for several minutes, and then they were joined by Bellatrix's cousin Vega, who began to assist them without a word. The three witches and Lucius struggled against the flames for ages until at last the final vestiges of fire had gone out. Bellatrix paused to draw a long breath, but Lucius did not hesitate to rush through the still-heavy smoke and start up the path.

"Lucius, what is going on?" called Vega from the gates.

"Just follow me!" he cried back in exasperation. He darted up the steps and flung open the doors, not bothering to close them as he ran through the foyer and up the stairs. Malfoy Manor moved past him in an indistinguishable blur until he reached the corridor he had been searching for.

He drew a sharp, pained breath. The nursery door lay unhinged and discarded on the carpet. Without pause to gauge the progress of the others, Lucius hurtled into his daughter's room, and he stopped dead in his tracks.

His wife lay on the floor, pale and unmoving, and their child was nowhere in sight.

"_NARCISSA!_"

He flung himself down beside her and drew her limp form into his arms. He grabbed her wrist and searched out a pulse, but he found none. Unwilling to even consider accepting that possibility, he slipped a hand to her neck and waited.

There. A very faint beat, but a beat nonetheless.

"HELP ME!" he cried to whomever was near enough to hear. Within seconds, Bellatrix flew into the room.

"Cissy," she breathed. She ran to where Lucius sat and fell down beside him, her hands flying to her sister's face. "She's cold. Lucius, she's so cold."

"_I know!_" He paused to draw a shaky breath, and then he forced himself to speak with strained calm. "But she's alive."

"What can we do to help her?" asked Vega breathlessly, dropping to her knees beside her cousins. "Merlin, I can't even tell what happened to leave her like this."

Lucius shook his head slowly, his thoughts moving too quickly to process but too slowly to reach a viable conclusion. He had absolutely no idea what would leave Narcissa so close to death. She was so pale and cold, it was as though her very life force had been drained from her body.

"Where's your daughter, Luci?"

Normally, the degrading nickname provided by his sister-in-law would have elicited a biting response, but Bellatrix's tone was weak and held what sounded like actual concern. The nickname was probably just a reflex.

He looked once again to the empty crib, and then his eyes fell on the pile of ash on the floor upon which sat a beaded eye that looked like it had belonged to a teddy bear.

"I don't know." His voice broke, and he pulled Narcissa close, tucking her head under his chin and refusing to let her go. He felt that holding on to her might in some way keep her safe; though his pessimistic thoughts told him this was futile, anything that might have even the slightest chance of keeping him from losing his wife as well as his daughter was worth a try.

"_Sacre bleu…_"

His eyes flicked to the doorway where Jolie stood, one hand on the frame and the other at her side as she stared at the ruined nursery. Though her silvery-blond hair and pale blue gaze had been a fixture in the Death Eater ranks for the last few years, he still couldn't help viewing her as the naïve girl he had once trained to torture and maim and kill.

"Ees she…?"

"Alive," said Lucius quickly and stubbornly.

"Vat do ve do?"

"The only thing I can think of is to make her comfortable and stay with her until she wakes up," said Vega reasonably, playing with a strand of her dark hair as she frowned.

Lucius nodded. He backed up until he was leaning against the wall and situated Narcissa so that her head was resting on his chest.

"Shouldn't we put her in bed or something?" Bellatrix glanced from one of the Death Eaters to the next, quite obviously out of her depth when it came to healing damage instead of inflicting it. Lucius couldn't claim to be any different; he was inept at healing magic.

"She'll be fine here," he said, and his tone suggested he would hear nothing more on the matter. "If you're planning to stay, I suggest making yourselves comfortable."

With a heavy sigh and narrowed eyes, Bellatrix relaxed a bit and reclined against the wall opposite Lucius, folding her arms and staring at nothing in particular. Vega nodded and took a seat on the floor, and Jolie sat beside her.

Apart from everyone's breathing, the nursery was silent.

Lucius glanced down at Narcissa, whose coloration had begun to steadily return. His mind drifted to their daughter, who should have been in this room, sleeping soundly. His heart ached.

After several long moments of nothingness, Lucius closed his eyes. He was unsure how long he sat in quiet torture before he finally drifted off to sleep.

_He lay on a thin surface much too scarce to truly be called a mattress, staring at the blank, dark ceiling above him and the painstakingly-scratched tick-marks enumerating the days he had endured this hell. The rough-hewn material of his assigned uniform scratched against his skin, and the dark circles beneath his eyes ached. Lucius could not recall the last time he had succeeded in obtaining an entire night's sleep. To sleep in this place was to leave oneself to the mercy of the shadows that slipped silently through the halls, allowed free reign by the supposedly just governmental system that should have protected its people instead of leaving them to this unimaginable torture. _

_ The air suddenly went ice cold. Lucius pushed himself up onto his elbows and stared into the darkness outside his cell, his eyes narrowed. _

_ A dark figure drifted weightlessly to the bars, its pale and scaly hand grasping the nearest as it drew a long, rattling breath. _

_ "Lucius…" it said. _

_ The man attempted to slide backward, away from the horrid creature, but he had barely had time to breathe before it slipped its hand through the bars and grabbed him by the ankle, its grip tighter than he could have imagined. _

_ "Let me go!" _

_ The creature did not release him. As it drew another breath, the dementor began drawing energy from its captive prey, pulling nothing less than portions of his soul from his lips. _

_ "No!" he shouted, but the dementor continued to drain him. _

_Images began to flash through Lucius's mind, tormenting him. His father lying too still, dead of dragon pox. A hearing at the Ministry, where he heard himself claiming to have been under the influence of the Imperius Curse for the duration of the First Wizarding War. A rain-drenched street in London, where he stood staring at the place where someone had just been, a diamond ring pressed flat into his palm. His mother's funeral. Another Ministry hearing, where the words "Life sentence," hung in the air as he stared helplessly at Narcissa, who wept openly in the stands, unable to reach him. _

_Every terrible memory he had ever experienced, brought again to the forefront of his mind as the dementor ate its fill and then left him once again in his cell with no company, no happiness, and no hope._

"L–Lucius?"

He frowned behind his closed eyelids, fearing when he opened them he would be faced with another dementor. But… wait, that voice was human. It was one he knew all too well.

His eyes snapped open to find Narcissa staring up at him tiredly, still pale but very much awake. The stiffness in his neck told him he had slept for several hours against the wall, and everyone else in the room had shifted. Vega stood by the window, Jolie beside the crib, and Bellatrix a few paces behind her sister, who looked completely lost.

"I'm here, love. Everything will be all right." Lucius pulled his wife close, indescribably relieved that she was awake and appeared relatively whole, given the circumstances.

"What happened?" she asked into his shoulder as she returned his embrace.

He paused, glancing to Bellatrix, who shrugged helplessly. Lucius sighed.

"We were hoping you knew," he told Narcissa. "When we arrived, you were lying on the floor. I thought… I was afraid that…" He could not finish his sentence, but she must have known where his thoughts lay.

"I'm fine," she said reassuringly. "They didn't come for me, they came for…"

Her entire body suddenly went stiff, and she whipped around, launching herself to her feet and toward the crib. When her eyes fell on its emptiness, a choking sound left her throat.

Lucius stood and moved to her side, wrapping both of his arms around her waist as he said "I know." A moment passed, and Narcissa began to sob. This continued for a while, and then Lucius felt he had to ask. "Cissy, who is 'they'? What did they do with our daughter?"

"I don't know," she choked. "I–I couldn't see their faces. They were h–hooded. I tried to fight them, I tried to save her. The one in black touched me, and I felt like… I just knew I was going to die. The one in white took her–took our Lila, Lucius–and I couldn't stop it."

She dissolved into tears, which he felt beginning to fall from his own eyes, despite his efforts to stop them.

"We should tell the Dark Lord."

Lucius looked to Bellatrix, who was watching them, enraged at the situation.

"He could help find her."

"No." The word left Lucius's mouth before he realized he had reached a decision, and he knew he could not take it back. "It's best not to tell him. Not yet."

"And why in Merlin's name not?" Bellatrix took a menacing step toward Lucius. "What could you possibly hope to gain by keeping this a secret?"

"He wouldn't help us, Bella," said Lucius dryly. "You know as well as I do that he would just ridicule and torment us in any way possible–manage to blame us for it, too, I'd imagine."

Bellatrix fell silent, and the twist of her lips suggested she knew what Lucius said was true.

"Can zhou tell us exactly vat 'appened?"

"Let her wait until she's had time to recover," Vega answered for Narcissa, looking at Jolie seriously. "There will be time."

"The Dark Lord has told me something. Something very important."

Silence followed Bellatrix's words, and the room's collective focus shifted to her.

"He has alerted me of his intent to take over the Ministry itself. When we succeed at this, we can utilize the Ministry's resources to find Lila." She smirked, and it was clear that she felt she had offered a viable solution to their problem. As much as it pained him to admit it, Lucius knew she had.

"Thank you for telling us," he said somewhat grudgingly.

Bellatrix nodded. She briefly rested a hand on her sister's shoulder. "We will find her, Cissy. And when we do, I will personally flay whoever is responsible for her disappearance. But at the moment, I have to go. I will return to check on you and make sure your husband hasn't found a way to make things worse." She shot Lucius a look, which he returned in full. She then started for the door, pausing at the threshold. "Oh, by the way, Cissy, I had meant to tell you… I'm pregnant."

Without another word, Bellatrix left the room.

* * *

Across the Atlantic Ocean and in the lower levels of a stately manor in Westchester, Professor Charles Xavier sat with a chrome helmet on his bald head that connected him to the device known as Cerebro. Strange things had been occurring as of late, with no explanation at all. Professor Xavier was certain that only a mutant or a similar creature could have caused it, but something worried him: he could find nothing. No mind, no power to link him to the cause of these oddities. Any time he tried to catch the bit of power causing it, he could not sense another mind within his own; in fact, he could sense nothing more than an irritation at the back of his head. Trying desperately to catch a glimpse of the odd perpetrators, he spent more and more time at Cerebro, with little to show for it.

Suddenly, something entered Xavier's mind. He felt those of four others. Two were familiar. He sensed the cold, calculating mind of The White Queen, and the cunning, sadistic mind of the Black Queen. Both were very powerful mutants, and with Xavier's searching so hard in that area, it was no surprise that found them.

The woman he did not recognize. She was not a mutant, but she was not human. As Xavier tried to search her mind to find what she was, he was blocked and felt the irritation at the back of his skull. So she was one of _them_.

The fourth mind was that of a child. A baby girl.

Xavier felt a battle. The Black Queen's mind enflamed with great pain, so much so that even the Professor, thousands of miles away, felt a glimmer of it. The pain seemed to have been caused by the woman, but Xavier had no idea how. Then Selene's pain stopped, and he began to feel the woman's life force ebb away. Emma took the child and left, before returning a few moments later to get Selene. Xavier breathed a sigh of relief when they left the woman alive. Another mind entered, and the irritation at the back of the Professor's skull grew. Selene and Emma went farther and farther away, and as they did, the image of the woman and the man who was now with her faded.

The Professor took Cerebro from his head and called any of his X-Men who happened to be at the Mansion.

_I'm on my way,_ said a female voice into his mind. Within moments, the door to Cerebro opened, and a young woman with long, red hair and green eyes entered the room. She was Jean Grey, his first student and now an instructor at his Institute for Gifted Youngsters, who preferred to be known by the codename Phoenix.

"What's wrong, Professor?" asked Jean.

Xavier opened his mouth to reply, but at that moment, a pair of women entered. On the left stood Vyolet, who was petite with black hair and emitted a pale purple glow through the cracks in her skin. Beside Vyolet was the young brunette known as Shadowcat, who had only recently joined the ranks of the Institute's instructors. No sooner had the two entered the chamber than they were joined by a brown-haired man with a visor made of ruby quartz covering his eyes. The man, Cyclops, moved to stand beside Jean, his fiancé.

Professor Xavier had hoped more of the X-Men would be nearby, but it could not be helped.

"As you know," he began, "there have been many odd happenings in the world lately, focused mainly in Britain. But I have not, until recently, been able to see the perpetrators. Due to some unknowing help from the Hellfire Club, I believe we may have found the cause."

He wrote the coordinates of the disturbance on a sheet of paper and passed it to Cyclops.

"Find out what's going on, but do not engage the Hellfire Club or whatever allies they may possess. This is an information gathering mission only. Now, be on your way."

* * *

The hours passed in endless agony as Narcissa sat in the corner of the nursery, staring blankly at the crib that had so recently held her child. She was oblivious to the changing light outside the window, to the figures passing by outside the room, and to the arms of her husband as he held her to his chest, which the tears spilled onto unceasingly.

Lucius said nothing for what might have been an eternity. He held her close and wept openly. Narcissa knew he was doing his best to be strong, because he felt he had to be. He knew she was falling apart and he needed to be there to pick up her pieces just as he had done so many times before. She knew this show of emotion was a rarity for him; Lucius was not the type of man who allowed his deepest emotions to enter the outside world if he had any way at all to stop them. Only she was able to see through him completely even when he did not want her to, able to find the soul within. Perhaps, she thought, that was why they loved one another so completely. They could not hide any part of themselves while in each other's company. She knew him better than she knew herself, and now, she knew how truly and deeply devastated he was. To allow his tears into the outside world was something Lucius had done so sparingly that Narcissa felt sure she could count the occurrences on one hand.

The loss of his only daughter was one of the few things that could push him over that edge.

A sickening, hollow feeling had settled in Narcissa's stomach. It was, she imagined, to become a permanent fixture there. This was, after all, her fault. If she had been more prepared, if she had been able to fight off the damned intruders–

"Cissy, I want you to listen to me, okay?"

His voice was so soft and broken that she felt her heart might burst. She bit her lip and nodded, still staring fixedly ahead at nothing.

"Nothing about this was in any way your fault."

She said nothing.

"Narcissa, look at me. Look at me."

When she did not move, he took her face between his hands and turned it toward him. Looking into those grey eyes that had so seldom held any sadness at all and finding, this time, soul-deep agony pulled a sob from Narcissa's lungs.

"Shh," Lucius breathed, running a thumb over her lips. "I promise you with everything that I am that we will find Lila. We will bring her home, and we will do it together. Do you believe me?"

Shakily, she nodded, feeling only vaguely in control of her own body. It was as though she were watching her life unfold from somewhere far away; somewhere close enough to allow her to see perfectly each passing second, but far enough to keep her from having any semblance whatsoever of control.

"How can you still love me?" she whispered.

She had not believed it possible, but the despair in Lucius's eyes deepened. "I don't want you to ask me something like that. Ever. Narcissa, nothing will ever make me stop loving you, least of all things that were completely out of your control. Do you understand me?" His voice was firm, and his hands would not allow her to look away. He was forcing her to understand, to believe him. She realized that was exactly what she needed, right now.

"Yes, I do."

She dissolved into sobs, and his grip on her softened as he drew her again into his chest, where she remained until the tears ceased to come.

"_Perdonnez moi_," said an apologetic voice from the doorway, "but zere is somewhere I need to go."

Narcissa looked up, finding the silvery blond hair and nearly-glowing but solemn face of Jolie Fier, her friend and Lucius's fellow Death Eater. As a half-Veela, Jolie was always breathtakingly beautiful, but she currently appeared as if she might become ill.

Narcissa managed a small nod, but Lucius found his voice first. "Thank you for staying so long, Jolie. You've no idea how much we appreciate it."

The young woman nodded. "Eet ees ze least I can do. I promise I vill return as soon as ees possible." She bowed her head to them and departed.

Lucius gave Narcissa's shoulder a squeeze, but neither of them moved to stand. They sat in comforting silence until a long breath escaped Lucius's lips. Narcissa looked up to find his face contorted in pain.

"What is it? What's wrong?"

In reply, he drew back his sleeve from his forearm, where the Dark Mark pulsed ominously. Narcissa's eyes widened in terror.

"No. He can't be calling you now. Not now."

"I'm so sorry. You know the last thing on this Earth I want to do right now is leave you here."

"Then don't," she pleaded. She placed her hands on either side of his face and drew his forehead down to meet hers. "Don't leave me."

"I am so sorry, Cissy. You know I can't avoid it. The pain will grow until I allow it to take me to Him. If I wait long enough, I won't be able to stop it. The longer I keep Him waiting, the worse the hell he will bring down on us both."

She took in a deep breath to steel herself to what was to come. "I know," she breathed.

"I love you. More than life itself." His lips found hers, and they lingered there for a long moment. She felt him tense, and he drew back, his eyes flicking to the pulsating Mark burned into his arm.

"I love you. Now go, before He does something we'll both regret."

Lucius nodded slowly, beginning to disentangle himself from her embrace. He stood, and with a last mournful glance, he retrieved his walking stick from beside the door and slipped into the corridor, making his way to outside to regain the ability to Disapparate.

Narcissa sat alone, now, staring at the spot where her husband had disappeared. "Be safe."


	3. The Sharpest Lives

**AUTHOR'S NOTE. So here's a forewarning: this may seem really, really violent. It won't seem that violent later. **

**~Bellatrix**

**The title is from the song by My Chemical Romance. I give up on posting links, because it's not working. But I totally recommend playing the song. It works really well with the chapter. **

**~Narcissa**

* * *

**Chapter Three**

**The Sharpest Lives**

In a swirl of black smoke, Lucius materialized outside the ancient, dilapidated house he knew to harbor his master. He made his way swiftly up the path, his eyes fixed pointedly forward and paying no attention to the rest of the world around him. Whatever the Dark Lord wanted from him, Lucius only hoped it would be over quickly so that he could return home to Narcissa.

A twig snapped from Lucius's left. He froze, scanning the moon-drenched grounds for the source of the noise. In the nearly perfect darkness, he could not discern what had moved. He shook his head tightly, and his long, white-blond hair fell forward over his face as he turned away, resuming his course to the house.

Lucius slipped silently in the front door and closed it behind him. He paused on the threshold, allowing his eyes to adjust to the dim light within. The sound of muffled weeping drifted on the musty air, and he followed it to the sitting room off the foyer.

He inhaled deeply and straightened his posture, forcing away all thoughts of his family and his own life and everything but the present moment. The Dark Lord was the most incredibly skilled Legilimens in the world, and Lucius wanted to take no unnecessary chances.

His attempts were wasted.

Upon entering the foyer, his gaze fell on a younger version of himself, and the thoughts of the woman he had left alone at the mansion returned as her face was reflected in that of the boy standing before Lucius. Draco, his son, stood directly to the right of a seated figure clothed in black, which contrasted with the pallor of the figure's snakelike face. The Dark Lord's mouth was twisted in distaste, and his eyes were locked on Lucius.

"You have kept me waiting, Lucius…" The last syllable continued on in a terrible hiss even after the Dark Lord's lips had ceased to move.

"My sincerest apologies, my Lord. It could not be helped." Lucius bowed deeply, remaining in the position of deference until his master spoke again.

"Get up," the Dark Lord ordered. "The reason for your tardiness does not interest me. I have summoned you for a purpose."

In the hiss following those words, Lucius stood, becoming suddenly aware of the other people in the room. At the Dark Lord's feet lay a weeping woman in a heap, her face to the floor. With a twist in his stomach, Lucius recognized Jolie.

To his left stood his wife's cousin, Vega Black. She was watching him solemnly, and something in her expression told him that she suspected his motives for arriving late. Beside Vega stood Ryan Nott with his son, Theodore, who was Draco's age. Lucius arched a blond eyebrow at the sight of Theodore; Ryan had never before brought his son to an assembly of the Death Eaters, though the younger Nott had expressed interest in joining his father for years.

To Theodore's left stood Lucius's brother-in-law, Rodolphus Lestrange, whose arm was wrapped around the shoulders of Bellatrix. The heavily-lidded eyes of Lucius's sister-in-law were fixed on him, and an unspoken challenge hidden there sought to prod him into giving himself away. Bellatrix had strongly disapproved of his and Narcissa's decision not to inform the Dark Lord of Lila's disappearance. What remained to be seen was how far she would go to earn her master's favor, should the opportunity arise to trade information at the Malfoys' expense. Bellatrix stood at the side of her nephew, who looked to his father anxiously, silently begging for some kind of help.

To the Dark Lord's left stood Wormtail–Peter Pettigrew–dwarfed in comparison to the hulking Fenrir Greyback, who glared at Lucius from Pettigrew's other side. Walden Macnair, Antonin Dolohov, and Augustus Rookwood were also present.

Lucius was the last to arrive. He felt the collective gaze of the room pressing in on him, but he ignored the other Death Eaters to focus on their leader, who spoke again.

"The Ministry plans to move against us tonight."

Lucius blanched. "Tonight? But, My Lord, how do they know of our location?"

"That remains unclear, but one of our Ministry informants…" His slit-like eyes lingered on Vega for a moment too long. "…learned that some of the Aurors have been tailing Ms. Fier."

Lucius cast a glance at Jolie, who remained in a heap on the floor. Surely the Dark Lord had punished her for allowing herself to be followed, but how could she have prevented it? The Dark Lord's actions did not always make sense, but Lucius would never dare to say this aloud.

"I see," he said simply.

"We must be prepared," continued the Dark Lord, "for invasion."

Suddenly, the rustle outside the house replayed itself in Lucius's mind, and he tensed reflexively. This did not go unnoticed.

"What is it?" demanded Bellatrix.

"I believe…" Lucius hesitated, unwilling to provide false information but genuinely concerned about the noise from without. "…that they may already have come."

Immediately, all sprang into motion. Wands were drawn, defensive positions taken. Greyback pulled Jolie roughly from the floor.

"Don't just lie there," he snarled. "Make yourself useful."

He shoved her, and she fell into Dolohov, who recoiled. Jolie remained obstinately silent, but she produced her wand.

Draco slipped silently to his father's side, and his proximity served to ease Lucius's mind the slightest bit. Lucius gripped the handle of his walking stick, prepared to draw his wand at the smallest provocation.

When the shuffling died down, there was an absolute silence that pressed them tightly into the same mindset; they were snakes coiled to strike, awaiting orders. At last, the Dark Lord broke the silence.

"Defend this place. Kill them all."

They needed nothing more. Lucius led the charge with Bellatrix bullying her way to the head of the group to take his side. Draco and Rodolphus followed closely behind with the others falling in at their backs.

They lingered just inside the doorway, listening for some indication of movement in the world outside. After several minutes of failed eavesdropping, Bellatrix rounded on Lucius.

"I wonder, is someone off his nut?" Her voice was scathing.

"Be silent," said Lucius coldly.

"Move aside," said a voice from behind them. A figure with greasy curtains of black hair slipped through the mass of Death Eaters, making his way to the door. Lucius's lip curled.

"You're late, Snape."

"And you're an imbecile."

Lucius opened his mouth to shoot a retort, but Snape's actions caused him to halt. He opened the door a crack, allowing the dim glow from within the house to escape and cast a long shaft of light over the lawn.

"What in Merlin's name are you doing?" hissed Bellatrix. "You'll give us away!"

He ignored her. He slipped his wand through the crack and murmured, "_Serpensortia._" A great black snake burst from the tip of his wand, sent out into the night. Snape closed the door.

There was silence until Bellatrix could stand it no longer. She cackled.

"A snake? That's your great bloody plan?"

"Give it a moment," he said with faux patience, as though he were explaining a fairly simple problem to a very small child. Bellatrix glared at him petulantly but held her tongue.

_Merlin,_ thought Lucius, _why must I be surrounded by such lunatics? Apparently neither tragedy nor pregnancy can offer Bellatrix the least semblance of sanity, and Snape is as insufferable as the day we met. _

A shriek came from without, shattering Lucius's train of thought. He reacted on impulse alone, hurtling open the door with a bang and directing his first curse at the thicket from which the scream had come. A blast of light impacted the bushes, followed by a more drawn-out cry inflicted by his Cruciatus curse.

The Death Eaters moved, unleashed by the scream, from the house. They fanned out across the lawn, casting blind hexes in all directions with the hope of achieving Lucius's success.

He held the curse, beginning to move toward the bushes as they writhed with the pain of the witch trapped within.

"You must be new," he said conversationally. "To be so afraid of snakes isn't going to serve you well, my dear. _Crucio!_"

Her screams were renewed with the curse, and she fell out of the bushes, twitching and squirming as the pain became unbearable. Lucius realized, somewhere in the back of his mind, that he was projecting his own pain onto this woman, intensifying the curse with his own black and devastated emotions. He was too far gone to care, anymore.

"_Reducto!_"

A blast of concussive air plowed into Lucius's left side, sending him hurtling over the lawn and into the nearest tree. With a snarl, he forced himself again to his feet to find that another Auror witch had reached the first. This one had long, red hair, as opposed to the brunette he had just hexed. The redhead glanced over her shoulder as he approached and raised her wand, pausing in her efforts to help her comrade to her feet.

"_Petrificus–_"

"_Expulso!_"

The ground beneath the two Aurors exploded, sending chunks of grass and dirt flying and tossing the women away as though they were weightless.

"Ally!"

A young man who bore a striking resemblance to the red-haired Auror plowed into Lucius's side, knocking the wind from his lungs and sending him to the ground. His head made contact with a large rock, and the world swam before his eyes. He watched the man run off in search of the others, and then Lucius lost consciousness.

* * *

Andromeda Tonks had suffered these people all her life. She had watched as her elder sister and both brothers-in-law fell to darkness and power and pride. She was the outcast. She had chosen love over money, happiness over blood. She had paid dearly for it, of course. Bloodtraitors did not go unpunished, least of all in the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black.

But when, as happened presently, she looked into Ted's brown eyes, Andromeda was reminded of why she had made that sacrifice. She loved him more than she had ever loved parties and privilege and Purebloods.

They were crouched behind the tree line, waiting for the right moment to move. Ted broke eye contact to glance toward the fray as a flash of green light signaled someone's death. Ted was accustomed to this senseless fighting; he was an Auror, as was his daughter. Andromeda, on the other hand, was the head of the Department of Mysteries at the Ministry of Magic. Under normal circumstances, she would never have found herself in the thick of the action. But when she had learnt that the Aurors were shorthanded and her husband and daughter were to charge into battle against a legion of Death Eaters without her, she would not have it. Her assistant–and distant cousin–Chelsea Prewett had insisted on joining her, against Andromeda's better judgment. Another cousin–as every Pureblood was in some way related–Vega Black, who also worked for her Department, was nowhere to be found, though she had outwardly expressed an interest in aiding the Tonks family.

Andromeda resigned herself to the tragedy surrounding her and looked out onto the lawn, where the brown-haired Gracie Timmons fell to Bellatrix's Killing Curse. With a pang in her stomach, Andromeda pushed herself to her feet.

"_Bella!_"

The eldest Black sister turned to the middle child, their eyes locking from across the battlefield.

"'Dromeda, don't you dare."

She pulled her arm away from Ted, whose tone and expression were petrified.

"It's been a long time coming, love. I can handle my sister."

"Your sister is crazier than the Dark Lord."

"Believe me, I know."

Without another word, Andromeda left Ted's side, setting out with a determined stride toward Bellatrix. The elder sister seemed to dance toward the younger, her long, black hair cascading madly in one direction and then the other as she looped through the engaged Aurors and Death Eaters to face Andromeda.

"How is my dear sister? Still soiling the family name by screwing the undesirables, I assume."

White-hot rage pulsed through Andromeda, spurring her onward. She raised her wand. "_Incarcerous,_" she snarled. Ropes shot from her wand and bound Bellatrix from shoulders to knees and knocking her to the ground. Andromeda reached her side and glared piercingly down at her. "I've so missed your assery."

"How touching. I can't say that I've missed you, dearie. I just assumed you were happy with your filthy Mudblood husband."

Andromeda could restrain herself no longer. She drew back her leg and kicked Bellatrix hard in the arm, forty-four years of pent-up rage escaping in one brutal motion.

Bellatrix laughed madly. "Is that all you've got, love? No more passion than that, I'll bet–"

"_Silencio!_" Andromeda cried, and her sister fell instantly, profoundly silent. "I've had _enough _of you, Bella! Enough to last this lifetime and several more!"

The battle raged on around them, but the two sisters were suspended in their own time and space, brought together after so long to be allowed at last to collide with fury.

"You made my life a living Hell for as long as you could, and then you couldn't hurt me anymore. I bet that drove you mad. I bet that killed you, not to have me to take out your psychosis on. I can only hope to Merlin that you never tortured poor Cissy as bad as you tortured me in every imaginable way."

"Oh, don't be melodramatic, dear sister. Not _every _way."

Andromeda froze. Sometime during her tirade, Bellatrix's husband had appeared at her ear. His hands slipped around her wrists and held them behind her back, disarming her in the process.

"Nice to see you again, Andromeda. You've no idea how long I've wanted to kill you."

Rodolphus transferred both of her wrists into one of his hands and used the other to release his wife from her bindings. Bellatrix rose, moving swiftly to stand in front of her sister and situate her face only centimeters away from Andromeda's.

"That makes two of us," she breathed.

Andromeda spat directly in her sister's eye. Bellatrix recoiled in disgust, turning away to wipe the offending liquid from her face. Rodolphus kicked Andromeda's legs out from under her, and she dropped to her knees.

"Just get it over with," said the younger sister. "You and I both know how this will end, Bella. You'll kill me, but the Aurors won't let you leave here."

"We'll see."

Bellatrix turned again to face her sister, and a demonic light danced in her dark eyes. She drew back her leg and swung, kicking Andromeda square in the face. Pain burst through Andromeda from her nose, which broke at the moment of impact with Bellatrix's boot. She fell backward only a few inches before Rodolphus caught her, forcing her to remain upright.

"You've no idea the embarrassment you've caused me, Andi. People do talk so."

"Nothing," choked Andromeda, spitting out the blood that had begun to drain into her mouth, "could be more embarrassing than being your sister."

Bellatrix's lip curled. "Cruel. Well done."

"I learned from the best."

With a sneer, Bellatrix raised her wand. "_Crucio!_"

Andromeda gritted her teeth as what felt like a million invisible blades pushed against her insides, intermingled with an unquenchable, raging fire. The pain was intolerable, but she would not allow her sister the satisfaction of hearing her scream. Instead, she scanned the night behind where Bellatrix stood laughing.

Ted was engaged in a duel with Fenrir Greyback.

"NO!" Andromeda shouted. She immediately regretted her expression of fear, because her sister mistook it for a cry of pain. Bellatrix shot Rodolphus a look of twisted satisfaction. Unlike his wife, Rodolphus was not fooled.

"Behind you, love. It's the Mudblood."

Bellatrix's eyes positively glistened in the darkness. "Is it, now?" She glanced over her shoulder, dropping the curse on Andromeda, who inhaled deeply with the relief of the pain. "Oh, Teddy," she called, "do come here."

"No, Bella, no! Leave him alone!"

Rodolphus tightened his grip on Andromeda's wrists. "I'd watch it if you don't want her to kill him. Yet."

"Yet," Bellatrix repeated as Ted turned toward the noise. Andromeda silently prayed that he would not see her or that he would mistake her for someone else. She knew, though, that fate had never been her friend.

Ted's eyes alit on her predicament, and he instantly hurtled toward her, paying no mind to the werewolf he had just hexed. Greyback rounded on Ted after the latter's back was turned, his claws raised, prepared to strike.

Bellatrix shook her head once, and Greyback snarled. Grudgingly, he lowered his arm and darted away after Chelsea Prewett.

Ted converged on the scene with his wand raised, hurling hexes at Bellatrix, who deflected them with comical ease. Her madness had driven her to become an expert duelist–unfortunately, one for the wrong side.

"_Leave her alone!_" Ted roared. "_You horrible woman, leave her alone!_"

"As you wish, brother, dear. _Crucio!_"

Ted fell to the ground, his face contorted in pain. Like his wife, he did not make a sound. He was well-trained for this. Despite that training, Ted was clearly in agony. Rodolphus held Andromeda immobile, unable to help or put an end to her husband's suffering. She wept openly now as utter hopelessness settled within her heart.

"Oi! Get the bloody hell away from my parents!"

Andromeda's heart twisted. From her left, a young woman with vibrant blue hair rushed toward the scene. Her daughter.

"Dora, no!" Andromeda cried. "Get out of here!"

"Yeah, Mum, that sounds like me."

Nymphadora Tonks took aim at Rodolphus and cried "_Stupefy!_" before he realized what was happening. He fell backward, releasing Andromeda, who forced herself somewhat unsteadily to her feet and retrieved her wand from where it had fallen on the grass. She then pointed it at her sister.

"_Expelliarmus._"

Bellatrix's wand flew into Nymphadora's outstretched hand, and Ted sank to the ground, breathing heavily but no longer in pain. Bellatrix was now trapped between mother and daughter as the two Tonks women prepared to strike if she dared move.

"Hullo, Auntie," said Nymphadora with a smirk.

"You're no niece of mine," spat Bellatrix venomously.

Nymphadora shrugged. "Suits me."

"Why don't you come back with us, Bella, dear?" asked Andromeda.

"You don't have the guts to make me." Bellatrix moved for her sister's wand, but Andromeda had already decided on a course of action.

_Forgive me, Rufus, _she thought, predicting the Minister's censure, _but I'd like to see you do differently. _

"_Crucio._"

The Curse was foreign to Andromeda's tongue, difficult to force from her lips. The venom behind the word, however, was pure and unfiltered.

Bellatrix fell. She did her best to keep her expression blank, but her pain was too strong to be hidden. Andromeda's mouth twitched. She realized that she was causing her sister pain, and the feeling of release that broke over her was liberating to her soul. This was only the smallest fraction of the pain Bellatrix had inflicted on her across the years, and, as blood continued to gush from Andromeda's broken nose, she only wished she could repay it in full.

"'Dromeda." She had not seen in, in the darkness, when Ted had moved to her side. She saw now, though, that he looked frightened. Of what? Of _her?_ "I understand why you're doing this," he said, "but it won't solve anything."

"It damn well makes me feel better," she said through gritted teeth. "_Crucio._"

On the ground, Bellatrix twitched and squirmed, her discomfort becoming increasingly difficult to bear in silence.

"I think–Andi–" she stammered "–I may–be proud–of–you–for the–first–time."

"Aw, I'm touched. _Crucio._"

"Mum, enough." Nymphadora placed a hand on Andromeda's shoulder, asking her to cease. "Let's just take her."

For a moment more, Andromeda reveled in the punishment she was imparting. She then lowered her wand.

"That, Bella, is what separates me from you."

"It makes you just as weak as you always were." Cackling, Bellatrix moved to sit up.

"_Stupefy._"

Ted's spell hit Bellatrix square in the chest, and she crumpled. It was over.

"I'll get her to the Ministry," said Ted, glaring at the unconscious form of his sister-in-law. "I'll return as soon as she's there, under the care of Scrimgeour himself."

"I'll help you, Teddy." The booming voice of Kingsley Shacklebolt announced the hulking Auror's appearance. Andromeda blanched, uncertain of how much Kingsley had witnessed. He looked down at her and winked, and she was instantly relieved. "What?" Kingsley asked innocently. "I saw nothing."

"Thank you," Andromeda said earnestly. If Kingsley had decided to report her use of an Unforgivable Curse, no matter how justified, she could have been removed from her post at the Ministry or even arrested. She knew Rufus would understand her reasoning, but he would have to follow protocol. Mercifully, she would not have to fear that.

Ted leaned in and kissed his wife gently, dragging a strand of light brown hair behind her ear as he did so.

"We'll back soon," he promised. Andromeda nodded, noticing with a pang that some of her blood had been transferred to his face through the kiss. "Be safe." He embraced his daughter, helped Kingsley lift Bellatrix from the ground, and Disapparated with both of them.

Left alone, Andromeda and Nymphadora exchanged a long glance.

"What do we do about him?" The younger Tonks jerked her thumb toward the Stupefied Rodolphus. "Uncle Roddy's out cold."

Andromeda looked down at her brother-in-law, who gave a slight twitch.

"We could take him back to the–"

Andromeda broke off, the remainder of her breath leaving her lungs in a scream as she felt strips of flesh separate from her back. She tumbled forward, landing uncomfortably with one arm pinned beneath her.

"_Mum!_" Nymphadora lunged forward to help her mother, but her movement was arrested by Fenrir Greyback, who grabbed her throat with one clawed hand and licked Andromeda's blood from the other. "Down–boy," she choked.

Greyback snarled. "I've heard enough from the two of you." He squeezed Nymphadora's throat, and she began to splutter and cough.

"Dora!"

Andromeda pushed herself to her feet, paying no mind to the lightheadedness that washed over her and the spots that flashed before her eyes.

"Let–her–go!"

"Bellatrix talks about you, Bloodtraitor. It isn't pretty." Greyback tossed Nymphadora away as though she were little more than a ragdoll. He then rounded on Andromeda, towering over her and emitting a feral growl.

She raised her wand. "_Stupef_–"

Greyback leapt forward, raking his claws upward from Andromeda's stomach to her clavicle. She shrieked and fell onto her already-damaged back. As the world around her spun, she attempted to push herself up onto her elbows and assess her wounds. She extended a trembling hand to her stomach, which was covered in blood in an instant.

"You filthy mutt!"

Nymphadora charged at Greyback, wand at the ready. Snarling, the werewolf grabbed her wand arm in a blur of motion and snapped it. Nymphadora cried out, and her arm dropped limply to her side, her wand slipping through her fingers and to the ground.

"Dora, no!"

Andromeda attempted to stand, but her legs would not hold her. She fell back onto the damp earth, which was wet with her blood. She could only watch in horror as Greyback slashed into her daughter's shoulder, her chest, and her leg. He dropped her to the ground, and Nymphadora did not stir.

"_YOU MONSTER!_" Andromeda roared, sobbing. Greyback turned, his lupine eyes alive with malice and fire.

"You want a monster? All right."

He treaded heavily to stand beside her with a dark smirk. The werewolf drew back his foot and kicked Andromeda in the side of the head. She instantly lost consciousness.

* * *

As the Auror fell to the ground following his Entrail-Expelling Curse, Augustus Rookwood walked away, rather bored of these Ministry people. Many of them were already dead, and those that remained were predominantly subdued by his colleagues. Rookwood found there wasn't much left for him to do, and that was a bit disappointing. He had only been out of Azkaban for a few months after his second sentence, and he had been hoping for an opportunity to really show the Ministry why they had imprisoned him in the first place. He didn't care for trivialities or easily-won fights, and these Aurors were nothing compared to those he had fought in the First Wizarding War.

His eyes fell on the unconscious form of Lucius Malfoy, and Augustus smirked. _Guess being an ass didn't save you, after all,_ he thought with unconcealed bitterness.

A jet of green light hurtled past Augustus's head, and he whipped around to see Theodore Nott engaged in a duel with three Aurors.

"Well, that's hardly fair," he said as he moved to Theodore's side and began blasting the Aurors back. "Three against one, that's fighting dirty."

"Says the _Death Eater._"

Rookwood laughed, sending a Jelly-Legs Jinx at the Auror who had spoken. "At least we're civilized."

"Thanks for the help," said Theodore under his breath. "I appreciate it."

"Less talking, more cursing."

The younger wizard's Killing Curse missed an Auror by inches, and the resulting shout drew the attention of Antonin Dolohov, who joined the fight on the Death Eaters' side.

"I've got them," he called to Rookwood. "Go help Macnair; he looks like he's got his hands full."

Augustus glanced in the direction Dolohov indicated to find Macnair trapped between two Aurors, and he sighed.

"On it."

Augustus nodded to Theodore and dashed across the field, hitting one of Macnair's assailants square in the back with the Killing Curse from twenty meters away.

* * *

Lucius awoke with a throbbing pain in his head and a snarl set on his lips. He forced himself to stand, despite the tremulous instability of the world around him, and quickly retrieved his wand from where it had fallen beside him. He then scanned the lawn, which had become a total warzone since his fall. Bodies littered the ground, predominantly Aurors whose training had done nothing to save them from the Death Eaters, whose skill and commitment to their cause made them a force to be reckoned with by the highest magical powers.

Lucius drifted through the ongoing battle like a ghost, taking in the faces of the dead. He passed the woman he had drawn out of the brush–the Auror who had probably been on her first real assignment. Several of her colleagues had met similar fates, but many of them had died in terrible, bloody ways, whereas the first woman appeared to have fallen to the Killing Curse.

He stopped mid-step when his eyes fell on the countenance of a dark-haired young man where still the remnants of a smirk lingered. His brown eyes were open and staring past Lucius, unseeing and haunting.

Lucius knelt and the side of Theodore Nott and slid his hand gently over the boy's eyes, closing the lids. The sight of someone his son's age killed so prematurely was too much to bear. Lucius turned away and started toward the house, hoping that there, he could reach a better vantage point for locating Draco.

"Lucius!"

The voice belonged to Antonin Dolohov, who was locked in combat with the red-haired siblings responsible for Lucius's aching head and loss of consciousness. He immediately sprang into action, taking up a position beside Dolohov and flinging various curses at the Aurors.

"These two," said Dolohov through heavy breaths, "were with the one who killed Theo. I got him, but these prats are refusing to go down."

The mention of the young Nott sparked something in Lucius, and he dropped the minor hexes he had been absentmindedly hurling and sent a Cruciatus curse at the female Auror, who stood directly in front of him. She fell to the ground, and her brother paused for the fraction of an instant necessary for Dolohov to sever his ankle with Diffindo. He, too, fell.

"_Ally!_ Hold on!"

The male Auror's face contorted in rage, and he took aim at Lucius. At the same moment, Dolohov stepped forward. The Auror muttered a curse too low for Lucius to hear, and a flash of green light followed.

Alarmed, Lucius ceased his cursing of the female Auror and watched as Dolohov fell to the ground beside him, dead.

"You've crossed a line, boy." Lucius's voice was low and positively lethal. The Auror's gaze flicked from him to Dolohov and back, and the fear in his expression might have been for his own life or of what he had just done for what Lucius sensed was the first time. "I'll make sure," Lucius continued in that deadly tone, "that you don't cross it again." He took aim at the Auror. "_Avada Kedavra._"

Another flash of green light followed, and the man fell facedown onto the earth.

An agonized scream ripped through the air, and Lucius saw the female Auror's face encompass horror, unending despondency, and pure hatred within one look at his face. She opened her mouth, to speak or to curse him, he did not know, but his instinct was, incomprehensibly, not to kill her. It was to leave this place and search out his son, wherever he may be.

"_Stupefy._"

The Auror fell backward, stunned. Lucius turned away without another look at either of them and began to make his way across the battlefield in search of Draco.


	4. Exo-Politics

**Welcome back to World War Z! We promise, this chapter will be a BLAST!**

**~Bellatrix**

**The chapter title is from the Muse song. Wish we owned it, but we don't. **

**~Narcissa**

* * *

**Chapter Four**

**Exo-Politics**

From the pilot's seat of the Blackbird, Jean Grey had a birds-eye view of everything in the sky, on the ground, and in the plane, though the last was due to her telepathy. Scott–Cyclops–sat beside her in the co-pilot's chair, and the others sat behind them in the main compartment of the jet. Vyolet–Mana–and Kitty had left Cerebro with them, and Nightcrawler and Wolverine had joined the group in the hangar before their departure.

_Six people_, thought Jean with mild amusement. _We're leaving the world's fate to six people. Just a day in the life of an X-Man, I guess._

She sighed and settled back into her chair, hoping to finally allow herself to relax, now that they had safely departed. She had allowed her thoughts to drift, and was thus surprised by the voice from behind her.

"Jean… do you have any idea what we're going up against?" Even without the use of her telepathy, Jean recognized Kitty–Shadowcat. She looked up, glancing over her shoulder to her friend and fellow teacher. "The professor was awfully vague, save that he couldn't quite pick it up with Cerebro."

The question made Jean's muscles tighten on instinct, her mind working out a response as vague as the Professor's in an attempt to avoid scaring the others with what little information she had managed to glean from his mind before their departure. She fought down the impulse to lie in an effort to protect her friends. Safety would not be an option, when they arrived, and lying to preclude the inevitable seemed to have little point.

"The Professor is scared, Kitty. From what I could tell, he has good reason to be. I felt something in his mind... something strange and confusing. He wasn't lying to us about the Hellfire Club being where we're headed, but they aren't the only ones there." Jean paused and inhaled deeply, casting a sidelong glance at Scott before returning her focus to Kitty. "I'm not really sure what we're up against, but there's something at work here that isn't human. It isn't mutant, either."

"Not human or mutant?" Kitty repeated. "Then what else could it possibly be?" She paused. "Aliens, maybe?"

Jean gave a small laugh. The thought of aliens being involved was strange, but the X-Men had seen worse. Much worse. That wasn't to mention the aliens they had already seen: the Shi'ar.

"It could very well be. But... I don't know, it didn't really feel alien. It felt like something close to human, but not." Jean wrinkled her nose and frowned. "That probably doesn't make any sense, but it's the only way I know to describe it. It was almost mutant but not quite. And it was absolutely terrified." She had not realized the truth of her last statement until it left her lips, but she knew, now, that there was no going back from it. Whatever that being was, it had been scared for its life or something else's.

The cockpit was silent for a long moment, and the sound of footsteps caused Jean to look to the entrance as Wolverine joined them. The soft voices of Nightcrawler and Mana drifted to the front of the plane, and had Jean not known some of the horrifying truth behind their mission, she would have found the atmosphere peaceful.

"How in the world did the Hellfire Club find this thing before us?" asked Kitty. "I realize they have the White Queen, but she's no match for Cerebro. What were they even after?"

Jean shrugged heavily, looking past her friends and trying to gather a sense of the truth of the matter at hand.

"It's hard to say. Knowing the Hellfire Club, something to destroy us. But whatever this thing was, it didn't seem to have destruction on its mind. It didn't seem any more aggressive than Blue Boy," she said, with an attempt at humor and a glance to Kurt at the back of the Blackbird. "We can only hope that they haven't figured out how to manipulate it to their purposes."

"It may not have seemed aggressive," said Scott, speaking up at last with a frown, "but we can't be sure. Since it can't be very accurately read telepathically, we'll have to play this by ear." It was clear to Jean that Scott didn't like this plan. He hated walking into situations with no information and less than no idea what they were going to do about it. But this time, as they all knew, there was no alternative. They could only hope that the odds would be in their favor.

Not that that ever happened.

Scott glanced at Jean for a moment before returning his attention to the sky.

"He's right," Jean said. "There's nothing we can do to prepare ourselves for what's coming. I know that's terrible and scary to think about, but we've always managed before, haven't we?" She reached out and took her fiancé's hand with one of hers, keeping the other flying the plane. "Think about it. How many times have we almost died?"

Scott flinched behind his visor. "I've lost track. More times than there should be."

Jean nodded, reassured somewhat when Scott squeezed her hand. "But we've made it through. I think that means we can make it through anything." She took a deep breath. "Now, let's try to enjoy this flight, because God knows what we're going to find when we land."

* * *

Lucius had Disapparated first from Little Hangleton, but he knew the others would not be far behind. He moved as purposefully as he could force himself to as he made his way up the path to the manor through the darkness, but his exhaustion and the wound he had sustained on the back of his head were weighing heavily on his mind and body.

He opened the door, and his eyes were assaulted by the light of the fireplace roaring in the foyer. He had not yet crossed the threshold when Narcissa threw her arms around his neck and pressed herself against him, squeezing him until he thought he might break. He returned the embrace in full, holding her as closely as he could and believing that holding onto her might allow him to hold onto some small amount of sanity. Narcissa was one of the few good things in his life that had not yet been stripped away, and he was grateful for every second they were together.

"I was afraid I'd lost you, too," she said softly, looking into his eyes as her own shone with tears. He could see as clearly as day that she had been fretting over the loss of their daughter and that his prolonged absence had only served to deepen her suffering. He felt overwhelmingly guilty.

"You'll never lose me, Cissy. I'll always come home."

He slipped a hand under her chin and drew her lips upward to meet his. She twined her own hand into his white-blond hair, and after a moment, she withdrew it slowly and pulled her face away to inspect the hand. Lucius followed his wife's gaze to find that her hand was covered in blood. His blood.

"I'm fine," he said preemptively, "I just fell and–"

"Fine?" she repeated, horrified. "Lucius, you're bleeding! You're hurt! That is, by no definition I can fathom, _fine._ Let me see your head."

"Narcissa, I'm all right, really." As she raised herself up on her toes to get a better look at his injury, he turned his head to make it more difficult to see.

"Don't lie to me!"

Silence followed, and they only looked at one another, their argument continuing unspoken. At last, Lucius sighed.

"I don't want you to worry for me, love. There are much more important things that need to be settled, tonight."

"More important than you?" Narcissa laid both of her hands on her husband's shoulders. "I don't believe that."

"There's something you need to know."

At that moment, a great hiss sounded from behind them. The color drained from Narcissa's cheeks, and Lucius knew that she already understood. They turned to see the terrible, black form of Nagini slither up the steps and into their foyer. Wild-eyed and frightened, Narcissa met Lucius's gaze for a long moment and then looked out over the path to the house. He sighed lowly and followed her eyes to find a mass of dark-cloaked figures approaching Malfoy Manor. Chief among them was the Dark Lord, whose snakelike features were unconcealed while all those surrounding him wore their hoods.

Lucius slid his arms around Narcissa's waist and gently pulled her to the side of the entryway, hoping that remaining out of the Dark Lord's path would help to keep them out of danger, for the moment. She said nothing and gave no visible indication of her thoughts, as her face had shifted once again to that carefully-constructed neutrality she so often showed the public.

The Death Eaters filtered in, forming loose clusters as they drifted to the fringes of the room. At last, the Dark Lord himself waved his wand, and the doors closed with a portentous finality. He then turned to the Malfoys.

"Narcissa, your husband has graciously offered to allow us use of your home. I trust that his judgment is in alignment with yours."

"Of course, My Lord." She bowed her head as she spoke, deferring to the Dark Lord's judgment as flawlessly as if she had been his follower for as many years as Lucius had. "Our home is at your disposal."

The Dark Lord nodded his satisfaction and departed from the room, followed by each of the Death Eaters in turn apart from one. The last remaining lowered his hood, and Lucius felt rather than heard the sharp breath Narcissa drew at the sight of him.

"Draco!"

The young Malfoy ran to his parents and joined in their embrace, allowing Narcissa to survey him for injuries while Lucius watched the severely guarded face of his son for indications of what might have happened while they were separated.

"I had no idea you were summoned, as well," said Narcissa, taking her son's face between her hands. "I would have lost my mind, if I'd known."

"You've had enough to worry on, dear one," said Lucius. "Before you ask," he went on, knowing exactly what she would say next, "I did not know Draco would be summoned, either. The burning of the Mark only alerted me of my own summoning. I had no idea what to expect, when I arrived."

"And what is it that you arrived to find?" She glanced between them, hoping that someone would give her a straight answer. "Draco looks as though he's seen a ghost, and Lucius, if I find out you're hiding other injuries, I swear I will–"

"Breathe, my love." Lucius pulled her close again, and Draco remained decidedly silent. "We were attacked, but we won. We survived. That's all you need to know, for now. I'll tell you the rest when you've slept, because I know that you've been sitting up waiting for me to return. If there was ever a day you've needed rest, it is today."

Draco frowned, uncomprehending. Lucius realized with a twist in his stomach that he had not yet been allowed the chance to tell Draco of Lila's abduction. The boy had just fought an unending invasion of Aurors and witnessed the death of his friend, and Lucius found he hadn't the heart to add another mark to his son's already damaged heart.

"We'll explain everything in the morning," he told Draco. "Everything. I promise you."

Draco nodded slowly. He then kissed Narcissa on the cheek and quickly embraced Lucius. "I'll hold you to that, Father," he said, and then he left the foyer.

"I couldn't tell him," Lucius said to Narcissa as soon as Draco was out of earshot. "There wasn't a moment we were alone together, and he has seen more tonight than I could have imagined he would see in one battle."

"I understand." Narcissa watched the doorway through which Draco had disappeared for a moment more, and then she met her husband's eyes. "You've seen more than any of us, I daresay." She slipped her hand into his and gave it a soft pull. "Come, darling. I want to fix that nasty cut of yours, and then I think we're both due for a bit of sleep."

He did not protest as she led him from the room, and he did his best not to think of the horrors that awaited them when the sunlight reappeared.

* * *

Jean surveyed the equipment before her to find that it was time to begin the jet's descent. "Fasten your seatbelts, ladies and gents. We're headed for the ground."

As the clicking of seatbelts from the back of the plane filled the air, Jean altered the Blackbird's course, keeping it steady with the controls and with her telekinesis as she guided it through the lowest layer of wispy clouds and to the ground. At last, the plane touched down and slid to a halt.

"Thank you for flying air X-Men. You'll find the exit at the back of the plane, and we hope to see you again soon."

Scott stood and stretched, making his way to the back of the plane with Jean in tow. Vyolet and Kurt sat side-by-side, talking in low voices, and Logan looked as though he would have been ill if the plan had remained airborne any longer. Kitty had already unfastened her belt and stood, watching the two who had just arrived. The team knew not to leave without Scott's all-clear.

He pressed the button in the wall that lowered the ramp and started down it slowly, his hand at the ready to fire a blast from his visor if anything threatening lay in wait outside. Jean watched, her fingers tracing small, anxious circles in the leg of her uniform. After a moment, Scott returned and gave a rather confident nod.

"All clear, everyone. Let's do this."

Jean let out a relieved sigh and slid to the side to allow the others to leave first, as she needed to make sure the plane was properly sealed upon their departure. Kitty was the first to descend the ramp into the field beyond, followed by Wolverine, and then Nightcrawler and Mana together. From her vantage point in the plane, Jean smiled at the others as they passed, and then she followed them, switching off all the electronics telekinetically and lingering on the ramp to wait for Scott. Breathing in deeply, she savored the English air, happy for a change from Westchester. Though she dearly loved the mansion, a little time away once in a while didn't hurt, in her opinion.

All was still for a long moment.

Then, a violent explosion ripped up the ramp, detonating the Blackbird with an earth-shattering boom and sending shrapnel and X-Men flying in all directions. Jean was unable to stop herself from screaming. She threw up her telekinetic shield as the flames burst toward her, but she had no idea whom she was able to shield, only that she attempted to cover as much ground as she could as she hurtled end over end through the air.

The ringing in her ears was so intense it was deafening, and the impact of the hard earth came much sooner than she had expected. Jean wasn't really certain how long she had lain there, sprawled across the ground with my face in the dirt. She should have become accustomed to dirt by now–it came with the territory when one of your powers was resurrecting yourself from the dead.

Her head ached from the effort of projecting a shield when she was under such physical and mental stress, and her body felt like it was on fire. It was difficult to move; instead, she telepathically surveyed her injuries to find that she had suffered severe burns and was bleeding in more places than she cared to admit. Her black leather uniform was very nearly shredded, and she could feel that several of her internal organs had ruptured or been punctured by the shards of the plane.

"_JEAN?!_"

Scott's voice yanked her from her thoughts, the desperation of her fiancé dragging her past her own pain for the sake of doing whatever she could to help him. Jean forced her eyes open and blinked in the offensively bright light, gritting her teeth against the agony that fought to overcome her as she pushed herself to her feet.

"Scott, I'm coming."

Though she had hoped to shout, her voice left her lips as barely a whisper. Jean willed herself to remain standing as she moved to Scott's side, and her heart seized as I took in his stillness where he lay on the ground, his visor missing and his eyes closed.

"Scott?"

She telepathically surveyed him, and to her unspeakably great relief, discovered that he was breathing. He did, however, look unconscious.

_I'll be back, Scott_, she told him mentally. _I'm going to find help._

Dazed and unsteady, she made her way out of the clearing, all the while mentally searching for the remainder of her team. At the edge, just before she reached a clump of trees, the pain in Jean's head multiplied. Perhaps she had overexerted herself more than she had realized. She reached out to steady herself by grabbing onto a tree trunk, but she missed. She collapsed onto the ground as her vision faded.

With the X-Men sufficiently incapacitated, Wanda Maximoff slipped out from the shadows in which she had concealed herself. Her brilliant red cape danced in the summer breeze as her boots sunk into the rich, English earth and her brown eyes surveyed the carnage she and her brother had brought down upon their enemies.

"Look, Pietro, they've arrived." Wanda smirked. Their plan had unfolded flawlessly. Father would be so proud of them.

In a blur of blue spandex and white hair, her brother ran onto the scene. When he noted the devastation, he smirked.

"I told you it would work," he bragged. "Just a second while I check the damage."

Wanda rolled her eyes with a smile. "Yes, because you've _never_ given me reason to doubt your judgment in the slightest. Except for that one time..."

She refrained from badgering him further as he went to inspect the damage left by the explosion. All was quiet for a moment, and she detected the singing of a bird somewhere off in the forest. Pietro moved in a flash to survey the wreckage, zipping from place to place before managing to trip over something lying on the ground out of Wanda's line of vision. Pietro did a quick somersault and turned back to examine whatever it was more closely. He said something harshly under his breath.

"Wanda?" he called to his sister. "I think we have a problem..."

Upon Pietro's words, Wanda's breath caught in her throat. Their plan appeared to have worked so flawlessly–what could have happened to screw it up now? Slowly and carefully, she made my way through the ruined and bloody grass to stand beside where her brother knelt.

"What is it?" she asked, her voice barely audible.

It was at that moment that she happened to look downward. She was unable to stop herself from letting out a little shriek of terror at the burned and blackened mound of flesh that had once been Shadowcat.

"Oh, God, Pietro, what have we done?"

"No..." he whispered, mostly to himself. "No... We didn't do this..."

He rose to his feet, turning to his sister with a dangerous gleam in his pale eyes.

"We didn't do this." He trembled as his voice rose with terror. "This never happened, you hear?! Our plan was–IS–perfect! We killed no one! This body isn't here! Got it?!" His voice dropped about a hundred notches. "Father will not hear about this."

A feeling of pure dread seized Wanda as she watched her brother lose his self-control. Pietro must have been more frightened than she knew to snap so completely. She forced a deep breath in through her nose and laid a hand on his shoulder.

"Of course our plan is perfect. Don't worry yourself, dear brother. Watch this."

She glanced down at the charred and destroyed corpse, cracking her knuckles beneath her gloves. She smirked.

"There is no dead body here."

Around them, the fabric of the universe seemed to shift. The air around Kitty bent and swelled, and then there was nothing. She was gone.

"How's that?" Wanda asked Pietro.

He visibly changed when the body had gone; his characteristic confidence slipped easily back into his posture as he nodded stiffly, still a bit shaken.

"Right. No body. Our plan worked." He gave a nervous grin. "So…" He cleared his throat. "Shall we take the others to Father, now?"

Wanda nodded, her own anxiety ebbing away as she watched the old Pietro return. The pair had always worked well under pressure, and it was as natural now as breathing to find creative ways out of sticky situations. This one was no different, as she told herself. Never mind that they had just accidentally killed someone–the outcome would be the same as if they had not. They would take the survivors to their father, just as they had planned from the start. They would tell him that the only ones on the plane had been–

Wanda glanced around the clearing, and she saw only two survivors. She quirked an eyebrow, surprised that more X-Men had not come. It was not like them to travel in such a small group, especially while using the Blackbird.

No matter. Nightcrawler and Mana would serve the twins' purpose just as well as if they had been accompanied by others. In fact, this might work more strongly in Wanda's and Pietro's favor.

"Yes, we shall. He will be pleased with us. As far as Father knows, this went better than we'd hoped."

Wanda lifted petite, glowing Mana from the ground and pushed herself upward, hovering a few inches from the earth.

"Back to Essex Manor, I suppose."

"Right."

Pietro gave another glance at the spot where Kitty had been, seeing the outline of the body in the grass. Wanda looked at the charred imprint for a moment and then tore her gaze away, unwilling to acknowledge the outline's existence any further. Pietro ran over to Nightcrawler and picked him up with a false upbeat attitude. He turned to his sister.

"Race you."

He shot away like a rocket, leaving Wanda and Mana behind in the clearing. As he ran off faster than she could ever hope to move, Wanda sighed.

"I really wish I had gotten a head start..."

Aware that she would never catch her brother, she flew after him at her top speed, though she knew she would still be incredibly, miserably late no matter how quickly she arrived. She could only hope that Father didn't mind.


	5. Sin With A Grin

**AUTHOR'S NOTE. What's as dangerous as letting the Brotherhood near the Blackbird? Letting the Death Eaters have dinner together! This is probably why we can't have nice things. We break them. The title is from the Shinedown song. **

**xNarcissa  
**

* * *

**Chapter Five**

**Sin With A Grin**

Lucius strode into the dining room and forced a deep breath into his lungs, preparing himself for the surely disastrous event preparing to take place. The table was set to accommodate the entirety of the Death Eater ranks, with a place of honor at the head of the table reserved for the Dark Lord.

Lucius's place.

The chair he had occupied every day of his adult life had been re-appropriated for his master, who had invited himself and all the rest into the Malfoys' home, effectively usurping every bit of authority Lucius still possessed here with his presence. Of course Lucius hadn't complained; one did not simply tell the Dark Lord no, unless the goal was to watch one's life disappear in the following instant.

Lucius knew he had no control of this situation, but he would be damned if he let the rest of the world know that, as well. Thus, he held his head as high as he ever had and reclined against the wall beside the fireplace, awaiting the arrival of his… 'guests.'

He had lost track of how many minutes passed in exasperating silence before someone entered the dining room. His muscles tensed involuntarily when he realized he was no longer alone, but he forced himself to relax when he realized it was Jolie. Of all those now assembled under his roof, he had the least reason to fear her. She was a loyal friend to her former master and his family, and she was currently guarding the secret of his daughter's disappearance from even the Dark Lord himself. She had earned his trust.

She floated rather than walked as she crossed the dining room to meet him, smoothing her skirt into alignment as she moved and scanning the room with her pale blue eyes.

Her gaze fell then on Lucius, who stood now only a foot away. "Bonjour, Monsieur Malfoy," said Jolie in her thick French accent. "Your 'ouse ees as lovely as always."

"Thank you, Jolie. I'm glad you were the first to arrive," he told her sincerely. "I don't want to face the rest of them without an ally." His mind flashed to the terribly-mannered, incredibly irritable werewolf Fenrir Greyback, who would, no doubt, be joining them momentarily. The thought was unpleasant, and Lucius forced it away. Perhaps Greyback would elect not to dine with the remainder of his colleagues.

"_Merci,_" said Jolie. "I vill 'elp in any vay I can." She looked away to take another survey of the room, and she frowned. "Vhere is Narcissa? Ees she feeling vell?"

Lucius's heart twisted at the mention of his wife and her current state. In truth, she had been lying in bed for the better part of the day, as despondent as she had been the day before, if not more so. He had spent each minute since his return from Little Hangleton with her until she had at last instructed him to go on to dinner without her, attempting to mend what he could of the damage done but largely unsuccessful in his efforts. It was difficult to console another when one's heart was already broken.

"She will be down shortly, thank you for your concern. She had begun preparing when I left, and she said she would not be far behind."

This was not a complete fabrication; Narcissa had told him that she would join him and the others shortly, though Lucius was quite certain her 'shortly' and his were two very different timeframes.

At that moment, Narcissa's cousin Vega entered the dining room. Smiling, she joined Lucius and Jolie by the fireplace.

"Thank you again for offering us shelter, Lucius," said Vega. "My idiot colleagues at the Ministry would have had all our heads on pikes, if they'd been able to figure out where we lived."

He clapped a hand on her shoulder, flashing her a winning smile. "It's our pleasure, Vega. You're family, after all. You should expect no differently."

"Lucius?"

The man in question looked up as Augustus Rookwood entered the room looking rather lost. Rookwood looked to the table and visibly deflated, probably disappointed by the lack of food. Of all the Death Eaters–including Greyback–Rookwood was the last one Lucius wanted to see, let alone to have staying within the walls of his home. Unfortunately, he had no real say in the matter.

"Do come in, Augustus, and make yourself at home. Can I offer you a drink?" Lucius glanced from him to the others and back. "Any of you? My apologies for the delay of the meal," he added, in regard the change in Augustus's expression. "Our servant appears to be slacking. She was supposed to have supper on the table by seven-thirty."

Lucius turned away from the group, and as he did so, he caught a glimpse of the small man in the back corner, whom he had not previously noticed. Pettigrew appeared to be trying to blend into the masonry, and Lucius elected to allow him to remain there, giving him no indication he had noted his presence.

"MONIKA!" Lucius called to the Malfoys' servant, rather more harshly than he had meant to. His exhaustion and frustration had found an outlet, despite his efforts to keep them in check.

"Ach!"

The sound of a dish shattering in the kitchen led Lucius to sigh, rubbing his temple. A moment later, the Muggle girl with short blond hair who had been serving his family for the last two years rushed into the dining room, wiping her hands on her apron. She looked alarmed by the amount of company in the room, and Lucius wondered idly how she would react to those arriving later.

"Vas is it, Herr Malfoy?" Monika asked in her typically coarse German accent.

Lucius rolled his shoulders backward and attempted to regain control of the situation at hand and of his emotions. He knew he could have chosen better ways to go about this, but he hoped the one he selected would be effective.

"What is delaying supper, girl?" he demanded. "Our guests are starving, and you gave me your word that the food would be ready by seven-thirty. I suggest you get a move on." He narrowed his eyes, looking directly into hers. "We wouldn't want anything unfortunate to happen, would we, dear? And while you're at it, bring everyone a drink."

A visible chill passed through Monika. "_Ich entschuldige mich_, Herr Malfoy. I vill bring eet out immediately."

"Let's avoid little... scuffles like this in the future, shall we?"

Without a reply, Monika turned and quickly retreated to the kitchen.

He smirked as Monika departed. His approach had been more effective than he had hoped. At least there was one person over whom his influence had not yet faded, even if she was a... Muggle. On that thought, he scanned the room again to see if his son had arrived, and when he realized that Draco had not, his mouth twisted into a scowl.

Rodolphus Lestrange drifted lazily into the dining room, his head slightly hung and the dark circles around his eyes highly visible. He looked as though he hadn't slept in months. He gritted his teeth and rubbed at my unshaven jaw, standing near the others but offering nothing to their conversation.

Meanwhile, Monika made several trips into the kitchen, bringing more food out with her upon each trip until it was all on the table. She then stopped beside Lucius. Nervously, keeping her eyes at her feet, she addressed her master.

"H-herr Malfoy, shall I tell Frau Malfoy dat dinner es served?"

At her question, Lucius's mood declined even more, if possible. He was uncertain of whether Narcissa truly intended to join them, and he did not want to risk offending her by pushing too hard for a return to a unified public front. However, he felt increasingly uncertain of his own ability to handle pretending to the world that everything was fine, and he knew that her presence would soothe him. His servant's idea might spare him the decision.

"You may knock on her door and ask her if she wishes to join us," he told Monika. "If she declines, do not question her. When you have asked, return here."

"That won't be necessary, Monika, thank you."

Lucius looked up. Narcissa lingered in the doorway for a moment more and then pushed off of it, moving gracefully as she entered the dining room. At the sight of her, Lucius's heart soared. He was not alone in this charade any longer, and he had not been forgotten. Narcissa inclined her head to her assembled friends and acquaintances and made her way to stand by the fireplace.

"My apologies for my tardiness," she said to the room at large. Her voice was cool and confident, despite the turmoil and fury Lucius knew must be bubbling just beneath the surface. Narcissa, he knew, was an expert at playing happy. She had been doing so since she was a child, and the questionable decisions of her family members had forced her to feign complacency countless times in order to keep the peace. "I was feeling a bit ill, but it was just a spell."

She wrapped an arm around her husband and leaned her head on his shoulder, addressing him in a tone much too low for the others to hear.

"I couldn't leave you to deal with this alone. I'm sorry it took me so long to join you."

Lucius pulled her close and kissed the top of her hair. "Don't apologize, love," he told her quietly. "I wanted nothing more than to stay upstairs with you." He breathed in deeply and raised his head to take in everyone else. "Please, be seated. Make yourselves comfortable."

"Lovely to see you, Cissy, dear." Vega grabbed Narcissa's free hand and squeezed it, smiling at her. "The food looks delicious."

When no one else moved for the table, Vega took the lead, finding herself a seat at the long, ornately-carved table at the heart of the room and sitting down. Jolie drifted away after her and took the next seat down, and with a tired sigh, Rodolphus joined them. Rookwood followed, reaching for his cutlery but thinking better of it, instead waiting for the others to sit. Monika began dishing out food to those already at the table, and, after a moment, Pettigrew abandoned his post at the wall to join them. The guests began to offer greetings and strike up conversation, and the room was relatively peaceful.

Narcissa readjusted herself, sliding her arm from around Lucius and instead intertwining their fingers. "Come, Darling. Let's not keep our guests waiting."

She gave him a gentle pull and started toward the others. He allowed Narcissa to lead him to the table, where he took the seat beside her and directly to the right of where he would have been seated on any other occasion. As he glanced down the table, he was pleased to see that at least everyone had recalled their manners, appearing punctually and awaiting his and Narcissa's arrival before eating.

Almost everyone.

Lucius's grey eyes flicked to the empty chair to his left, and he could not help feeling a fair bit of resentment. The Dark Lord had commanded the place of honor at the table, and yet... he was nowhere to be found. There was no sense delaying the meal any further. Lucius had no idea if he even planned to attend.

"Please, everyone, enjoy your meal."

He lifted his fork from the table with a rather unsteady hand and took a bite of salad that tasted like ash in his mouth. Monika was a talented cook, he had to admit, but he was far from hungry, and forcing himself to eat never ended well.

With a flourish of robes and an ominous swirl of black smoke, the Dark Lord appeared. He took the seat at the head of the table and snapped his fingers in Monika's direction. "Get over here immediately and serve me!"

Lucius blanched. He immediately bowed my head to the Dark Lord, not meeting his eyes.

"Welcome, My Lord. We're pleased you could join us."

Lucius then looked up, searching the room for Monika, daggers in his eyes. If she did not move quickly, she would have both him and the Dark Lord do deal with, which Lucius could only imagine was a less than thrilling prospect.

Jolie slid out of her chair and bowed gracefully to the Dark Lord. "_C'est un honneur d'être en votre présence, Mon Seigneur._" She then quietly retook her seat and took a large gulp of wine.

"My Lord." Vega stood and bowed, as well, and was then seated again.

Lucius's eyes were drawn to the doorway, where his son was in the process of entering the room. Draco moved rather nervously, nodding greetings to the guests and bowing before the Dark Lord before taking a seat beside his mother. He, too, waved for Monika. He then spoke into the silence that had filled the room.

"How has everyone been?" Draco asked in a shaky, toned whisper. Upon his son's attempt to begin a conversation, Lucius felt a terrifying mixture of embarrassment and pride. At least Draco was trying to make things bearable.

Vega laughed. "I've been very well, thank you, my young cousin. And yourself?"

"As good as I can be, I suppose," said Draco. "It's been a rather busy... well–_year_ for me."

The Dark Lord sneered. "Yes, I imagine failure must be quite taxing. Tell me, Lucius, how does it feel to know your son turned out just like you?"

Lucius felt the color drain from his face at the Dark Lord's cold, degrading words. He swallowed, feeling his mouth suddenly go dry. He had no idea how to respond to such a blatant insult.

"I'm... I'm rather proud of my son, My Lord. I regret that you've been given reason to feel that way."

To his right, Narcissa took a deep breath. "Do tell us," she said, "My Lord: if you find Lucius and Draco to be failures, why lower yourself to stay in their home? I'm sure one of those whom you hold in higher esteem would have been more than willing to open their doors to you." She watched his pale, snake-like face with expertly-feigned curiosity, awaiting a response. Lucius was mortified.

The Dark Lord sucked in a breath, and the air grew could. He quickly raised his arm from beneath the table and pointed his wand at Narcissa.

"_CRUCIO!_"

Narcissa fell from her seat and onto the polished floor, screaming uncontrollably and writhing in pain. As she fell, Lucius nearly leapt from his chair. He then remembered that he was in the company of the Dark Lord, and anything he did to save his wife would only drive his master to intensify the torture. Hating himself for allowing this to happen, Lucius slowly turned in his seat to face the Dark Lord, hoping to appeal to his sense of reason.

"My Lord, please," he begged. "My wife meant no offense. She meant only to express surprise that we were worthy of you. She meant no harm," I repeated, unable to stop himself from glancing to her after every few words. He felt as though his heart were being stabbed with each time he looked.

The Dark Lord scoffed, keeping his eyes on Narcissa instead of meeting Lucius's gaze. "Worthy of me?" He twisted his hand and poured more pain from his wand. Lucius winced, and his fingernails dug into the armrests of his chair. "You obviously have no idea," said the Dark Lord, "of the meaning of worth." He continued the torment for a moment longer before releasing the woman. Narcissa dissolved into a heap on the floor, unmoving apart from her sporadic breaths. "Be certain to remember this…" The hiss of his last syllable hanging in the air, the Dark Lord turned and sat back in his seat, returning to his meal.

Lucius was unable to stop himself from getting to his feet and falling to his knees to help his wife from the floor. He took both of her hands in his and spoke in a voice that he hoped was too low for the Dark Lord to hear.

"Are you all right?"

"I'm fine," Narcissa whispered. She attempted to smile, but her pain was unconcealed. She did not fight Lucius as he helped her to stand and retake her place at the table, where she resumed her meal in silence. Lucius poked aimlessly at the chicken on his plate with his fork, but his appetite had deserted him. In the corner of his vision, he could see that Narcissa was trembling.

There was a long moment of silence. It was broken by Vega from down the table as she spoke to Jolie. "Could I trouble you to pass the salt?"

Lucius looked up as, with halting and troubled steps, Ryan Nott entered the dining room. He took an empty seat near the center of the table and scanned the surrounding area as though he were searching for something. A moment later, he located Monika.

"You there." He snapped his fingers at her impatiently. "Bring me a Firewhiskey."

Monika nodded hurriedly and rushed for the kitchen. Lucius could smell the drink already heavy on Ryan, but he wasn't about to begrudge his colleague drinking more. After all, the man had just lost his son. Lucius knew all too well the pain Ryan was in; had he been the type of man who typically drank, he felt he would have joined Nott. As it was, he only watched, occasionally sipping the wine sitting beside his dish or pretending to be interested in the food before him.  
Nott glanced to Jolie, and his fists balled angrily. Lucius had not asked, but he believed Ryan probably blamed Jolie for his son's death. The Dark Lord certainly blamed her for the entire Little Hangleton fiasco, and it wasn't much of a stretch to assume others did, as well. Lucius did not blame his former apprentice, but his opinion mattered less and less to the others as time progressed.

Rookwood cleared his throat. "So, Mrs. Malfoy… you had a child recently, yes? I fear you must forgive me; I haven't been keeping up. It's a girl, correct?"

Lucius froze, his hand midway to his wineglass. With a small sigh, he returned it to the armrest and cast a sidelong glance at his wife. Narcissa blanched. She then pulled a strand of blond hair behind her ear and looked to Rookwood with a winning smile.

"Yes, we have a daughter, and we couldn't be happier." She slipped her hand beneath the table and found her husband's, giving it a squeeze. He returned the gesture, hoping to keep the two of them strong, though he felt suddenly weak. "Her name is Lila," Narcissa went on, "and she's the most precious thing."

By this time, Monika had returned with a bottle of Firewhiskey for Nott. He took it and drew a long drink straight from the bottle, not bothering with the glass set out for him. He then set the bottle on the table, and the contact with the polished wood made a rather loud noise. Nott flushed, apparently embarrassed at his own behavior, and attempted to join the conversation.

"Does she look like her brother did at that age? At… how old is she?"

Lucius continued to hold Narcissa's hand tightly and drummed the fingers of his free hand on the table, temporarily deserting his attempts to appear interested in his food in order to maintain complete focus on the situation before him and keeping his thoughts in line to avoid giving anything unnecessary away.

"She's six months old," he said, "and, yes, she does resemble Draco a bit. I think she looks more like Cissy, though." He gave his wife a small smile, believing they had dodged the bullet this conversation could have become.

Rookwood watched Lucius's fingers drumming on the table for a moment, and then he returned his attention to Narcissa. "Perhaps you could bring...Lila, is it? down here. What with all that transpired last night, it would do us all good to see some young life."

And just like that, they were caught. Lucius's mind raced for a solution to a problem that he had not prepared for, and his mouth stumbled for words that would not come.

"Yes, I'm sure it would, I... you see, Augustus, Lila is..."

He felt as if the whole room was waiting for him to finish his sentence, but he could not. Nothing more would leave his lips, and he took a drink of wine to drown his desperation.

"She's staying with Draco's girlfriend, Fawn."

Lucius blinked. He looked to Narcissa, whose expression was cool and collected.

"When Lucius was called away," she said, "I also had matters to attend to, and Fawn loves spending time with Lila, so I asked if she would be willing to babysit."

"Is it true?"

The timid voice was out of place in the assembly, and it had come from the doorway. Lucius looked up just in time to see his son's schoolmate Daphne Greengrass drop to the floor in a hasty bow to the Dark Lord. It appeared that she had spoken before she realized he was in attendance. Daphne was a close friend of Draco's, and so she had been given the invitation to visit the Manor at her leisure, but her sudden appearance struck Lucius as odd until he realized why she had come.

Theodore Nott, Ryan's son, had been her boyfriend.

"My Lord, I apologize," said Daphne. "I did not mean to intrude." Even from his distance, Lucius could tell how red her eyes were. He opened his mouth to invite her to sit, but the man sitting in his rightful place beat him to it.

"Come in, child," said the Dark Lord smoothly. "Have a seat. We were just having supper."

Lucius took a bite of chicken to keep himself quiet.

A smile creeping onto her face, Daphne nodded quickly and stood. "Thank you, My Lord." As she made her way to the table, she nodded politely to Lucius and Narcissa, and the former returned the gesture while the latter forced herself to smile. Daphne took the empty seat beside Wormtail, scanning the faces of those assembled until her gaze landed on Nott and her eyes began to shine with fresh tears.

"Yes, it's true, Daphne," Ryan said somberly, answering the question the girl had been asking on her entrance. "He's gone." He tossed his head back and took a long gulp of Firewhiskey.

Daphne let her head slide into her hands and emitted a small, stifled choking sound. "How did it happen?"

"How do you think it happened, fool?" This came from Rookwood, who was watching Daphne with both eyebrows raised. "He was foolish enough to get himself blasted."

Nott slammed the bottle down on the table, and several people flinched. "Do _not_ speak of my son in such a way, Augustus. Not if you value your life."

Lucius glanced to Draco, who was staring down at an untouched plate of food, and then back to the others. He understood completely why Nott would be so furious when Theodore was spoken of in such a way.

Rookwood looked at Nott, a smile spreading across his face. "Oh, did I upset you, dear Nottie? I suppose you'd prefer to remember your son as some brave hero or something. Well, he wasn't. He was a fool of a fighter who got himself killed in a small scuffle. He's not worth mourning." Augustus gleefully played with his fork, staring at Ryan.

Nott pushed himself to his feet, his chair scraping loudly against the floor as he did so. In a flash, he produced his wand and brandished it ominously at Augustus.

"I swear to Merlin, Rookwood, I will kill you where you sit. If you had done _your_ job better, perhaps my son would still be alive!" I boomed. "As I recall, you were the nearest to him and Dolohov when that Auror..." Ryan's voice broke, and he was not able to finish the thought, though he kept his wand pointed threateningly at Augustus's heart.

Rookwood reached slowly into his robes wand, speaking simultaneously. "You sure you can kill me, Nott? Like father, like son, after all. And don't you dare blame your son's mistakes on me. He should have been able to take care of himself." He whipped out his wand, pointing it in Ryan's face. "I'm sure you would be just as easy to kill, you sad, pathetic little man!"

"_CRUCIO!_"

The explosion of the curse into the air arrested Lucius's attention, and he whipped his head around to find that Daphne had leapt from her seat and sent the curse flying at Rookwood from across the table. Her face was livid, and her blond hair fell in disarray around her shoulders, which heaved with her breath.

Lucius sighed as the dinner went all to hell with the second Cruciatus Curse of the night, proving once and for all that his life would never again be peaceful. He then noticed his wife shifting in her seat, resting an elbow on the table and dropping her head into her hand, and he ran his thumb over the hand he still held, hoping to communicate silently that they would find a way through this, whatever that took.

Rookwood fell to the ground, convulsing in pain and his wand falling from his fingertips. He bit his lip until blood was seen, but his scream was unable to be stifled.

Slowly and with steadily-mounting confidence, Daphne made her way around the table crouch beside Augustus, her wand locked on him and her eyes narrowed dangerously. "I suggest we all let poor Theo rest in peace and refrain from making any comments that anyone would regret, shall we?" She released him from the curse and stood, watching him, her breathing rapid and her gaze violent.

Rookwood stood slowly, glaring at Daphne and looking as though he had been hit by a train. He walked back to the table, his eyes never leaving hers, before he grabbed his glass and tossed its contents in her face. She did not react; she only glared as, smirking, he walked away and left the room.

Nott, who had been watching triumphantly until the wine had been thrown in Daphne's face, slid to his feet and walked to her side, passing her a handkerchief and clapping her on the shoulder. "Well done, Daphne. Rookwood had it coming."

She gratefully accepted the handkerchief and used it to wipe her face before responding. "Thank you, Sir. I refused to sit by and watch Theo be slandered so." She then appeared to realize something, and a look of terror slipped onto her face as she turned to the figure at the head of the table, her eyes shifting to the floor. "My Lord, I am incredibly sorry for my unrestrained and emotional reaction. I did not mean to cause Mr. Rookwood any lasting harm, but to right the injustice he inflicted."

The Dark Lord nodded to her. "You are forgiven, child. That was a brilliant curse you performed. Please, return to your seat."

The color rose in Daphne's cheeks, and she bowed again. "Thank you very much, My Lord." She returned to her seat and glanced down at her plate, which currently bore no food. This was not lost on Monika, who hurried to fill it and then went to stand again along the wall.

Taking a deep breath, Lucius addressed the Dark Lord, hoping to win back a bit of his favor with the next suggestion. "Such a talented young witch as Daphne would do well in our ranks."

"Is that really possible, My Lord?" Lucius glanced to Daphne, whose eyes shone with a renewed fire. "I would like nothing more than to serve you."

The Dark Lord made a face that looked somewhat like a genuine smile, or as close to one as he could muster. "Your enthusiasm is refreshing, Miss Greengrass. After last night, I fear we do I have quite a gap in our ranks. If you prove yourself worthy, I may have a very important job for you."

Daphne gulped and nodded. "I would be honored, My Lord. I will do whatever you ask of me." She bowed her head.

"Starting tomorrow," said the Dark Lord, "you will begin training in the Dark Arts with… Lucius."

The man in question's stomach twisted, and the Dark Lord glanced over at him, and spoke lowly so only Lucius could hear. "Your own son may have been a failure, but I expect more from this girl. If she fails, you will be held responsible."

One thought blared in the front of Lucius's mind, and he only hoped his face did not give any indication of the anger simmering just below the surface. _My. Son. Is. NOT. A. Failure._

Naturally, the words he spoke aloud were nothing resembling what he was really thinking, as was usual around these people. He replied to the Dark Lord in an undertone, unwilling to tip anyone else off to the tension between them.

"Of course, My Lord. I will not fail you again."

The corner of the Dark Lord's snakelike mouth turned down in a sneer. "I rather doubt that. Prove me wrong."

"I promise you, My Lord, I will."

"Do forgive me, everyone," said Narcissa from her husband's right, "but I am terribly exhausted. I feel I must retire for the evening." She stood, kissed Lucius on the cheek, and left the dining room without another word.

When she had gone, Lucius felt suddenly less sure of himself, which he hadn't thought possible. He decided to stay for a few more moments to give the impression that he was not leaving for fear of his safety, and he went back to eating, though his thoughts followed his wife upstairs and he doubted he would be able to keep himself from following her for long.

Vega folded her napkin neatly and set it on the table beside her plate before standing and stretching. "Dinner was lovely, Lucius. Your servant is very skilled in the culinary arts." She turned and bowed to the man at the head of the table. "My Lord. Goodnight, everyone." She departed.

Jolie set down her fork and took a sip of wine, surveying those remaining. Lucius followed her eyes. The two of them, The Dark Lord, Draco, Wormtail, Nott, Daphne, and Rodolphus were left at the table, with Monika nearby.

"I suppose," said Jolie, in an attempt to strike up another conversation, "zat zees living situation vill allow us to get to know one anozer better. 'ere's to friends." She raised her wineglass.

Nott simply glared at her. "Friends," he muttered. "Not with you, Blondie."

Seeking a source of distraction from his own failures, Lucius raised my glass. "To friends." He glanced to his rather silent son across the seat his mother had recently vacated, making made a mental note to speak with him in private to determine if he was all right, after the Dark Lord's constant ribbing.

Several of the others raised their glasses, but the Dark Lord did not move. After a moment, Nott could restrain himself no longer.

"Friends don't let friends die."

He flicked his wand at Jolie's wineglass. She let out a small shriek as the glass exploded in her hand, effectively dousing her in the red liquid and shards of glass. He stood and started from the room, reaching the doorway before glancing over his shoulder. "Lucius, send me the bill for that." Without another word, Ryan stormed from the room. Jolie watched him go, fuming.

The Dark Lord chuckled. "Well, what an amusing dinner this has been. But I fear it has dragged on a bit too long for my taste. It's time for this lovely little dinner party to disband." With that, he stood and left the dining hall. Lucius breathed a sigh of immense relief.

Jolie's cheeks had flooded with color. She took several deep breaths to compose herself and waited until the Dark Lord had gone before addressing Lucius.

"_Merci,_ ze food was lovely."

She pushed herself back from the table and floated from the room, as elegant as ever despite her now-stained dress. After her departure, Lucius addressed those who remained.

"Please, enjoy the rest of your meal. If you would like dessert, Monika will be around. I, on the other hand, must retire. Good evening."

He stood and left the dining room.


	6. I Never Told You What I Do For a Living

**AN: No more team get-togethers, right? Wrong. But not yet. In the meantime, let's check in on the kidnappers and the puppetmasters.**

**xNarcissa**

* * *

**Chapter Six**

**I Never Told You What I Do for a Living**

At last, Sinister found himself able to take on his true form–or at least that through which he represented himself to the public. He had toned down the red of his eyes and added a bit of color to his skin to give the appearance of being closer to those with whom he would be speaking momentarily. Perhaps he would allow them to see the true extent of his mutation soon enough, but until he had been allowed the opportunity to persuade them to join he cause, he believed this was the best choice.

He would not be playing the part of Sebastian Shaw, today. As Shaw, Sinister had told the Queens Black and White of the Hellfire Club to meet in the lounge of their current location–Essex Manor, outside of London–with the man who had so graciously opened his home to allow the Inner Circle and Brotherhood to use it as their collaborative base of operations. Sinister had promised them an explanation for the requests 'Shaw' had been making in conjunction with Magneto, who was also to attend this little get together. In the guise of the Black King, Sinister had told the Queens that their host was reclusive and did not often speak with the guests he entertained, which was no fault of theirs, but rather a preference of his reserved nature.

Sinister inhaled deeply and folded my arms across my chest, awaiting everyone's arrival, musing on the Queens' gullibility. If his mutation had not naturally shut out their telepathy, perhaps he would not have been so lucky.

The first to join him was the White Queen. She walked with a self-assurance he typically saw only on film, and she tossed her blond hair over her shoulder as she smirked at him. As Emma approached, Sinister could not help but smile. Poor, deluded Emma, hopelessly devoted to Shaw and with absolutely no idea what had become of him or that Sinister had been playing his part for months.

"Hello," she said. "I don't believe I've had the pleasure of making your acquaintance." She offered him a gloved hand, which he shook gently. "Emma Frost."

"Charmed, Emma. My name is Nathaniel Essex, but I am better known as Mr. Sinister. Can't imagine why." He flashed her a handsome smile and fought to look anything but what his name suggested. It was best not to frighten away those who could be useful to him.

She laughed softly. "I can't imagine it, either."

"Hey, Dad! I'm back with the–"

Sinister looked up to see Quicksilver blur to a halt in the doorway. Pietro gave Sinister a quick glance, then locked his eyes onto Emma and whistled.

"I'm sorry, I wasn't aware we were having a lady over."

Pietro set something down by the doorway–on a second look, Sinister realized he had been carrying the X-Man Nightcrawler–and approached Emma, arm extended, intending his hand to be shaken. "The name's Quicksilver, but you can call me Pietro. Or Pete. Whatever you prefer."

Emma smiled. She took his hand and shook it as she tossed her hair over her shoulder.

"It's a pleasure to meet you. Hmm... Pietro is very dignified, but Pete... Pete's cute." She gave a small wink.

"I don't think you'd want to deal with her, darling."

At that moment, Selene Gallio sauntered into the room, hips swaying. The Black Queen walked over to the white-haired Pietro, running her hand along his shoulder.

"I think you would find her rather aggravating." She then glanced to Sinister, and he felt a prickling at the back of his skull that he knew could only be her attempt to enter his mind. When she was unsuccessful, her eyes became hard, and Sinister fought the urge to smirk. "And who might you be?"

Emma glared at Selene. "I don't think it's possible to find someone more aggravating than everyone finds you, Selene..."

Sinister let out a quiet sigh as Selene and Emma resumed their perpetual game of one-uppmanship, electing not to intervene in it or in their mutually blatant flirtation with Pietro. Sinister couldn't help feeling a ridiculous pang of jealousy, as he had been playing Sebastian–the man Emma professed to love–for quite a while. He reminded myself that he really didn't care about any of this and answered Selene's question.

"I, my dear, am the owner of this house. Nathaniel Essex, at your service." With a cool smile, he offered a hand for a second time to someone he already knew well, though she was unaware of this.

Selene took his hand slowly, shaking it. Again, he sensed her attempts to penetrate his mind, and he smirked, hoping she took the expression as happiness for making her acquaintance.

"Essex, you say?" asked Selene. "I can't say I've ever heard of you. Are you part of the British faction of the Hellfire Club?"

When Selene and Sinister broke off into their own conversation, Pietro turned again to the White Queen. "What did you say your name was again?"

"In a way, my dear," said Sinister to Selene. "I am involved with an organization very similar to the Hellfire Club, one who has quite a noble vision for the future."

Selene's eyebrow shot up. "And what organization would that be, pray tell, that the Black Queen has not been made aware of?" Her tone was dangerous.

"Emma Frost," the White Queen was telling Pietro. "And you said your mutant name was Quicksilver. I saw how fast you moved to get here, that was very impressive. Do you have any other, ah, gifts?"

"Well, I'm not one to brag," replied Pietro, "but, to match my speed, I have incredibly strong legs. I'm able to leg press over a ton. And, another interesting feat: I can vibrate things so quickly, I can make them either fall apart or explode altogether."

Sinister laughed, quite amused by Selene's frustration. Toying with such volatile and dangerous mutants was rather fun, and he was in no hurry to detail his plans.

"Their leader is expected to arrive shortly, and he will do a better job of explaining than I, but I will tell you–" _some of_, he added mentally– "what I know. They are called the Death Eaters. They are comprised of members of a race very similar to mutants, but with a considerable difference. They believe in the principles of natural superiority allowed by our inherent gifts, and they believe the natural place of humans is in servitude."

Emma raised an eyebrow. "You are talented, Pete. Let me show you something." She took a step toward him, and the vacant look that passed over his face indicated that they had travelled to the astral plane.

"Hmmph," said Selene. "You're too soft, Mr. Sinister." She walked slowly to the other side of the room, sitting down languidly on an elegantly-upholstered chair. "'Servitude' is not really the right word. Slavery, on the other hand..." She glanced over at Pietro and Emma, and her irritation got the better off her. She sent a shadow at their legs.

"_Damn it!_" cried Emma as Selene's shadow pulled her and Pietro to the floor and out of their mental vacation. Enraged, Emma shifted into her diamond form and allowed herself one glorious moment of unrestricted fury as she crossed the room, drew back her arm and punched Selene in the face.

Selene's head flew to the back of her chair, and barely a moment passed as she seemed to take in the cuts Emma's diamond fist had left in her face. Selene used her natural physical enhancement to get up before Emma could react, punching her hard enough to put a crack in the perfect facets of her diamond face.

Pietro pushed himself to his feet and moved to stand shoulder-to-shoulder with Sinister. "Women. Am I right?"

Sinister rolled his eyes as the ladies resorted to physical violence, and he nodded when Pietro spoke. "You are indeed, my young friend." He lowered his voice so the Queens would not hear. "Between us, these two are easier to play against one another than the chess pieces they've named themselves after. It's terrible."

Pietro gave a light chuckle and lowered his voice to the same volume as Sinister's. "Must make them rather difficult to work with."

"Indeed it does," Sinister told him, "but it's going to be hilarious to watch when the leader of our allies arrives. Perhaps he'll knock them both down a peg. Speaking of allies..." He returned his voice to a normal volume, not caring if Selene and Emma heard his next question. "...Your father should be arriving, soon. I'm glad to have all of you under my roof. Where is your sister?"

Pietro smiled. "Oh yeah, she's still on her way. As you probably already know, she's not quite as fast as I am."

With a shriek of rage, Emma fell backward onto the floor, clutching her perfect face. "I am so _sick_ of you!" she cried at Selene. She forced herself again to her feet, picked up a nearby table, and raised it over her head, prepared to drop it on Selene.

"Ah, understandable," Sinister told Pietro. "I hope when they both arrive, we–" He broke off as Emma lifted the table. Selene laughed darkly, and the table combusted.

This had gone too far. Sinister reached out telekinetically doused Selene's fire before ripping it from Emma's hands, setting it back down on the floor.

"Wow," breathed Pietro.

"Ladies, really," chastised Sinister. "How indecorous. You are guests in my home, and I suggest you behave as such."

Selene rolled her eyes, and it looked for a moment as though she were thinking of setting _him_ on fire. She managed to restrain herself and went back to her chair, taking care to knock Emma's shoulder as she went past. Emma glared daggers at her and then sauntered over to the two men, her face set in practiced regret.

"I'm so sorry, Mr. Essex. I let my emotions get the better of me. I won't let it happen again."

"I would thank you not to, Miss Frost." With a sigh, Sinister glanced from her to Pietro to Selene, and his eyes fell at last on the unconscious blue man lying by the wall, whom everyone seemed to have forgotten. "Pietro, do tell us, how did this happen?"

Quicksilver had no opportunity to answer as, rolling her eyes again, Selene addressed Emma loudly. "Oh, please. Like you give a damn. You're just trying to protect your precious image of imaginary perfection."

Emma laughed humorlessly. "Diamonds are perfect, Selene. But maybe your withered ass is too ancient to know what's valuable in this century."

"Perhaps you should save your fun for _after_ business. You know what they say..."

Sinister looked up to find an aged but dignified man standing a few feet within the entrance to the room, his red cape settling around him in the pause after he had stopped moving. He straightened his posture slightly and gave Sinister a small nod of his head.

"Mr. Essex, I presume? I should thank you for opening your home to us." He then turned to Quicksilver. "Pietro, I trust you have done as I asked? Where is your sister?"

As the newcomer addressed him, Sinister was impressed by his manner and the grandeur of his entrance, and he offered him a smile. "It's no trouble... you are Mr. Lehnsherr, are you not?"

"Yes, you are correct. I see you've already met my son."

Sinister nodded politely. "It is an honor to finally meet you; I've heard much of your work, and our correspondence has left me anticipating the work we will do together."

Hovering a few feet from the ground, her scarlet cape billowing behind her, a slim, auburn-haired woman glided into the room, the unconscious X-Woman Mana draped over her shoulder. Her eyes fell first on Magneto, and she grinned. She landed gently and dropped Mana beside Nightcrawler before striding over to the old man's side, her boots clicking on the polished floor as she moved.

"Hello, Father."

Magneto nodded to her, and she then turned to Sinister with a lovely smile. "Wanda Maximoff. I suppose most people would call me the Scarlet Witch, though."

He nodded politely to her, reigning in his natural charisma to avoid doing anything that might attract negative attention from the man he now knew was her father.

"Charmed, Wanda. Nathaniel Essex."

"Excuuuuusssee me, but as nice as these sweet little introductions are, our guest is awake."

The group's collective focus shifted to her as she gestured toward the doorway, where Nightcrawler lay, unable to hide the bright glow of his yellow eyes and the swish of his tail, though he appeared to be trying to feign sleep.

He sighed heavily and cast a long glance to the still-unconscious Mana, wrestling internally with something. Then there was a burst of smoke and a _BAMF_, and he disappeared, resurfacing on the chandelier, which swung under his weight. He then addressed Selene, his eyes flicking back to the other X-Man every few seconds. Sinister shook his head sadly as the boy began to, for lack of a better term, freak out.

"For vat purpose have you brought us here, Fraulein?"

He glanced from one face to the next, his expression carefully neutral.

Selene grinned smugly at the X-Man's frightened behavior. "To be honest, Nightcrawler, I don't know. You'd be better off asking Magneto or Mr. Sinister here." She gestured toward the two older men from her seat but made no move to rise.

"Actually, that was us." Wanda indicated her brother with a jerk of her chin. "And we saved you, Kurt. Your plane was attacked. We found you and Mana lying in the middle of a field that looked like it was hit by a blowtorch. We brought you back here so that our father could help us to see if you were okay."

Sinister took his cue from Selene and Wanda, who had prepared the way for his explanation. He felt that the time had come, at last, to be frank with everyone present. That is, as close to frank as he was prepared to be, at the present time.

"It's fortunate that Mr. and Ms. Maximoff managed to find the two of you; I can't imagine what would have become of you if they hadn't. I won't deny that your presence here suits our purposes, but I can tell you honestly that I had no idea you would be arriving." This part was true, at least. He hadn't been told exactly which X-Men would be aboard the plane, but he had known of the explosion beforehand. He didn't say this aloud, of course. "And to the rest of you..." He surveyed the group assembled, taking in their faces with a mixture of pride and anxiety. He always enjoyed when a plan came together, but this group was a bit more, ah, _headstrong_ than he'd hoped. "You have come here for a purpose. As I've already begun to explain to some of you, a new race has recently come to my notice here in England, and I am proud to say that I have befriended–" he used the term loosely– "the strongest of them. This race has abilities much like ours, and they could prove to be the most powerful allies that we have ever known in our quest to protect ourselves from the humans." He chose my words carefully, ever aware that there were two X-Men present, however unconscious one of them was. "They call themselves wizards and witches." His eyes fell on Wanda with the last word, and he let it hang in the air. Wanda's lips twisted questioningly, but she said nothing.

Magneto raised a silver brow and let out a small laugh before he began to speak. "I assume you do not speak of... trivial party magicians." He laughed shortly once more as he gazed for a moment in Wanda's direction. "Especially if you are so willing to... compare their power to my daughter's. Please, do go on."

Sinister laughed good-naturedly at Mr. Lehnsherr's assumption. He understood why Magneto might assume that was the type of witch and wizard he spoke of; after all, had he not witnessed their power with his own eyes, Sinister would believe the same. Fortunately, he had been... enlightened.

"I assure you, Mr. Lehnsherr, their powers are anything but trivial. No... these magical folk have been concealing their existence from us and from the humans for millennia. They are powerful enough to made entire buildings appear invisible or appear to be something else entirely so as to dissuade unwanted visitors. And that's just the beginning. There is a limitless power in them that I believe could rival even the most powerful Omega-level mutant, if used correctly."

Emma listened, frowning, as Sinister explained. "You're telling me," she began, "that these people could be stronger than _him?_" She jerked a thumb at Magneto, shaking her head in disbelief. "Stronger than Xavier? Forgive me, Mr. Essex, but I have a hard time wrapping my head around that. How could someone like that hide so completely?"

A swirl of black smoke had begun to materialize near the end of Emma's words, and as she finished speaking, it settled into the form of a man clothed in black. His skin was pale as marble, and his eyes and slit-like nose could have belonged to a snake.

"To put it simply," he said, "magic." He paused to survey the faces of everyone in the room–all of whom but Sinister gaped at him–and then continued to speak. "Good evening everyone. I do hope...that I haven't kept you waiting for long."

Sinister watched his entrance, thinking that it worked in their favor that the Dark Lord appeared in style. He took a calm breath and straightened his tie before moving to stand beside the latest arrival.

"Not at all, welcome to Essex Manor." He turned to the others and gestured to the newcomer. "Everyone, meet... Lord Voldemort."

Voldemort took in the collective shock of nearly everyone present.

"Thank you, Mr. Sinister. It is a pleasure to finally meet these...colleagues of yours."

Wanda, who had taken a step backward on Voldemort's entrance, scrutinized him with her eyes and smirked with her mouth, appearing genuinely interested in him and what he had to say.

"So you're a wizard," she said. "_Wie beeindruckend._"

He looked to her. "Yes, I am a wizard. I am quite well known in the Wizarding World, in fact, as the greatest wizard of the age. I thank you all for coming. I imagine you must be quite confused. I should tell you, by revealing myself to you as a wizard, I am breaking hundreds of Wizarding laws. But no matter, no matter, things are different now. Desperate measure must be taken. Which is why you have all been brought here."

Emma raised an eyebrow as she listened to him speak. "Why are things different now, may I ask? What changed? I mean, I'm flattered that you've chosen us to reveal yourself to, but I'm afraid I still don't quite understand."

Voldemort arranged his features into an understanding smile. He raised his wand, pointing it at the wall. He said nothing, but the wall exploded. With another wave of his wand, it was like it had never happened. Wanda's eyes widened the wall was reassembled, and she let out a low whistle.

"You see," said Voldemort, wizards and witches have the potential for limitless power. As such, they have been persecuted by humans for millennia, in much the same way that mutants are being persecuted now. In order to avoid the conflict, the Wizarding government, The Ministry of Magic, made laws which forced wizard-kind into hiding." He paused for a moment, scanning the room and meeting the eyes of everyone present before continuing. "However, since the revealing of mutant-kind, the Ministry has been in uproar. They believe that mutant-kind will lead to the exposure of the Wizarding world, and they will stop at nothing to avoid this."

"That's terrible," said Wanda heatedly. "Humans are ridiculous–they fear what they cannot understand, and so they seek to destroy it. Sick, narrow-minded people," she grumbled.

Magneto clapped, his hands moving slowly and methodically at the exhibition of Voldemort's power. His face, however, was widely... unenthused.

"Very impressive, Lord Voldemort," he said as he slipped his hands back under his cape and to his sides. "I see that we may have similar goals in mind. What does this... _Ministry_ plan to do?"

"It is not what they are _planning_ to do," said Voldemort coolly, "but what they are _doing_. There is a prison, called Azkaban, built for wizards, which is nearly impossible to escape from. It is guarded by creatures that suck out one's very emotions, one's own sanity, and even one's soul. Azkaban Prison is where the Ministry is imprisoning the mutants they capture. They are experimenting on them to find a way to destroy all of mutant-kind."

Emma blanched, appearing as though she might became ill.

Magneto clenched his fist as his brow furrowed. "This Azkaban; certainly it is not entirely inescapable. I myself have left walls of such a place."

At that moment, Nightcrawler teleported to the ground beside Emma, frowning as he approached Voldemort. "Surely a vizard as powerful as yourself knows how to beat sem?"

Voldemort narrowed his eyes at Magneto before looking to Nightcrawler. "My followers are searching for a way now. Only one man has ever escaped on his own; one of our enemies. He died two years previous. Indeed, I have a follower in Azkaban at this moment, finding the holes in their defenses."

"So it is possible to defeat sem." Nightcrawler nodded. "Sat is good to 'ear."

"Somehow I have the feeling that enemy's was not a natural death," said Magneto calmly and with a raised eyebrow before returning to the matter at hand. "So, with this... follower of yours that is in Azkaban, what do you plan to do? What is your... agenda with the Ministry?"

A vase of flowers, a mirror hanging on the wall, and an end table exploded.

Sinister whipped around, scanning his lounge for the source of the explosion, and his eyes fell on Mana, who had awoken. She was looking from one of those standing to the next as she sat by the wall, clearly in a panic.

Also frantic, Nightcrawler teleported to her side and took her hands in both of his. "Vy, breathe," he said. "Ve are safe. Ve are among friends. Sey saved us. All is well." Sinister couldn't discern whether the X-Man actually believed the words he told his companion, but he seemed determined to make her believe them.

She clearly didn't. They began to argue in rapid German, and Sinister listened in, still fuming about his detonated possessions. Rather, Nightcrawler spoke in pure German, but what Mana spoke was a terribly confusing blend of that language and Romanian. Though Sinister's first instinct was to attack her with any of his abilities he so desired, he fought that impulse down and took a deep breath. He would fix the damage later, when he was not surrounded by such volatile company.

"_Was? Was meinst du, total ist bine? __Siehst du nicht, cine diese Leute oameni?_"

"_Ich weiß, es klingt verrückt, Vy, aber glauben Sie mir, wenn ich nicht alles ist, wie es scheint zu sagen. Offenbar gibt es eine neue Rasse unter uns. Vielmehr ist es nicht neu, aber wir waren nie bewusst. Zauberer und Hexen existieren. Dieser wird als der mächtigste bekannt, und er hat darauf aufmerksam gemacht worden von einer Bedrohung ihrer Ministerium für Magie besitzt, um Mutanten-Art. Er will uns helfen, uns selbst zu schützen, und es scheint, dass die anderen das gleiche wollen._"

This continued for several moments before Pietro leaned toward Sinister and whispered to him, "Any idea what they're saying?"

Sinister nodded slowly. In his long life, he had studied many languages, including a lot of German. "Nightcrawler is telling her," he whispered back to Pietro, "that she has nothing to fear from us. He's telling her that you and Wanda saved them and of the threat the Ministry poses to our kind. I'll admit, I'm surprised at how easily he was won over. Perhaps the girl will be the same."

Pietro blinked. "That was the plan, right? To win them over?"

"Indeed it was, Pietro," Sinister told him patiently, "but the X-Men are typically not so easily swayed. I was afraid we might have to use force, and what a poor alliance that would have bequeathed."

"I guess it's a good thing this new guy's so convincing." He glanced at Voldemort, who stood beside Pietro's father and sister. "I still don't like him, though..."

Sinister rested his hand on Pietro's shoulder and nodded knowingly. "Neither do I, my boy, neither do I. But he will help to lead us to a greater victory than we ever dared to imagine. With him, I think we stand a chance of ridding ourselves of the human menace once and for all. Just... try not to make him angry with you. Believe me, it won't end well."

Pietro raised an eyebrow him and then looked back at the wizard. "Whatever you say. Just be sure to give him the same warning."

Sinister laughed softly. "I think your father already has. Watching these two attempt to work together may be more entertaining than Emma and Selene." He then surveyed the room, particularly the two captiv–two _guests_, and he realized just how badly injured they were. Pietro and Wanda had certainly done a thorough job of destroying the Blackbird... "I do hate to break up the party," he told the room at large, "but I believe we need to find accommodations for all of our guests, and a bit of medical attention for some. You are, of course, more than welcome to stay if you wish, Lord Voldemort," he added with a glance to the wizard.

Voldemort inclined his head graciously. "I thank you, Mr. Essex, but my dear friend Lucius has been allowing me to stay at his home in Wiltshire, for the time being. In fact, he has extended the invitation to all of you, should you choose to accept."

Sinister quirked an eyebrow. "Quite a generous offer," he said a bit skeptically.

"It is indeed," said Voldemort. "I believe I will take my leave of you and give you all time to process what we have discussed. But I will return in a few days' time, and if you wish, you may accompany me."

Nodding slowly, Sinister smiled. "That sounds brilliant, sir."

Voldemort returned his nod and glanced once more to Magneto. "I'm certain my dear followers will impress even you, Mr. Lehnsherr. Farewell."

In the same swirl of black smoke through which he had materialized, he vanished.


	7. Miserable At Best

**AN: Sorry it took so long to update, Bella and I have been really busy over the last month. We'll try to get as much posted as we can in the next week or so to make up for it. If anyone feels like reviewing, we would be incredibly grateful. **

**We don't own the chapter title, it's from the song by Mayday Parade. **

**~Narcissa **

* * *

**Chapter Seven**

**Miserable At Best**

The effects of the Cruciatus Curse still lingered over Rookwood, though he had been lying on the four-poster bed for… he really didn't know how long. He had washed his face upon returning to the rented room in order to clean off the sheen of sweat that had formed there.

He had never taken well to the Cruciatus Curse in his adult life. His father's torments in childhood had seen to that; even the thought of the Curse sent a shiver running through him. He had not realized, in his goading of his old rival Ryan Nott, that he would provoke the Greengrass girl into attacking him, let alone with such a spell. He had no idea what could have prompted her into such violence, but he didn't really care.

It was terrible enough to be in this house without being attacked by a seventeen-year-old. The lush carpet and elaborately-carved furniture made him ill. A place that held such sickening connotations for him did not deserve to be so beautiful.

There was a soft knock at the door, and he stilled his breathing, prepared to ignore the sound.

"Augustus?"

He knew that voice far too well. With a loud groan, he pushed himself to his feet and trudged to the door, which he opened to find a very tired-looking Narcissa standing just outside. There were dark circles under her eyes, and Augustus recalled that he had watched her be hit by the same Curse he so loathed earlier that evening and by none other than the Dark Lord himself. He chose not to remember the fact that Lucius–her husband–had persuaded the Dark Lord to spare her.

He forced himself to speak with composure, keeping his tone as hard as he could manage. "Erm… hello, Mrs. Malfoy. What can I do for you?"

"I wanted to see if you were all right. That was a nasty affair downstairs, and I was worried."

She did not react to his refusal to call her by her given name, as had been his custom since her marriage. In her blue eyes, there was genuine concern. Despite himself and the volumes of history between them, Augustus softened.

"I'm well enough, I suppose," he said, running a hand through his brown hair. "But what about you? I imagine that the Dark Lord's curse was much worse than that of a little girl."

Narcissa laughed gently, her exhaustion and recent pain subduing her actions somewhat, though seemingly appreciative of his caring enough to ask. "It was terrible," she admitted. "I suppose I shouldn't have let my tongue slip. I knew better than to speak so in front of the Dark Lord, but I was just so… so _angry_ with how he was treating my husband and son. I won't allow myself to speak so freely again."

He laughed, but there was no humor behind it. It sounded like he felt: cold and old and hollow. On the mention of her family, the glimmer of stupid hope that had resurfaced in his mind was instantly doused.

"T'would seem the best in this band."

He attempted to grin, but the movement increased the pain that lingered in his jaw, and he flinched. This was not lost on Narcissa, who took a step toward him as her blond brows knit together in worry.

"Are you sure you're all right? Is there anything I can get you? Our servant is still occupied downstairs, but I would be more than happy to help in any way I can."

He smiled genuinely, though taking care not to aggravate his jaw again. "Thank you, Mrs. Malfoy, but you've already given me what I needed. A hot meal…" He patted his stomach for emphasis. "…and a warm bed in which to regain my strength."

She nodded slowly, obviously not completely believing him. "I'm glad I could help," she said. "You look like you need your rest, and I know I do. Get some sleep, Augustus, and I'll see you in the morning. Goodnight."

She smiled and inclined her head to him before turning and starting away down the hall.

"Goodnight."

He returned her nod, keeping the smile on his face a moment longer, until she could no longer see him. He then returned to his room, shut the door, and leaned against it with a heavy sigh. He could not bear to watch her walk away again.

* * *

After departing Augustus's chambers, Narcissa returned to her own, where she quietly closed the door. She trudged to the dresser, the lead in her feet finally allowed to slow her down, now that she was out of view of the public. She sat down and began to pick aimlessly through the objects adorning the dresser's surface without really seeing any of them. Her mind was not here, and if she had had her way, her body wouldn't have been, either. She would have been out searching for her daughter.

The door opened quietly and then closed again. Narcissa vaguely recognized the sound of her husband's footsteps; she did not need to look up to find that he was walking toward her. The touch of his hands on her shoulders drew her back into the present time and place, and she met his eyes in the mirror.

"I doubt that could have gone worse."

With a long sigh, he began to massage her shoulders, trying to ease a bit of her tension. "No, probably not. But at least it's over, for now. Soon enough, this will all be behind us. When the Dark Lord takes power, we won't have to live in hiding."

"Of course not, because he'll kill us before that happens." She closed her eyes and sighed, temporarily allowing herself to relax under his touch. She then remembered how frustrated she was, and she turned in her seat to face him. "Lucius, can you sleep while all those people are in our home? I know I can't. I don't feel safe here, anymore. If I don't feel safe in our home, where can I?"

When their gazes met, Lucius's eyes became sad. "I want you to feel safe here, Rose. I want you to trust that I won't let anything happen to you." There was a pause, and the scene from downstairs flashed through her mind. She knew he was seeing it, too. "Again," he added quietly.

It was clear to see that Lucius blamed himself for what had happened to her downstairs, and Narcissa would not have that. The mention of the nickname he had given her so long ago only served to plunge the knife deeper.

"My love, I don't blame you, and you mustn't blame yourself."

He smiled sadly. "Of course I must." His expression suddenly took on a fierce protectiveness. "Narcissa, I swear to you, if even the Dark Lord himself attempts to harm you again, I will not hesitate to hex his snake ass." He flicked his wand toward the door, and the lock clicked. "Trust in me. I will not let anyone take anything more from us." He took her hand. "We may not succeed at sleeping, but we should try. Merlin knows what tomorrow will bring, but we will face it together. Come on, darling."

Though the thought of Lucius attacking the Dark Lord was very intriguing, Narcissa was certain that they both knew that would just end with their deaths. She did appreciate it, though, and she did trust him. She didn't want to bring up anything else negative or ruin the sentiment by pointing out how quickly the Dark Lord would have them both dead on the floor. She didn't argue, and she didn't let another pessimistic thought leave her lips. Instead, she stood and allowed herself to be led toward the bed.

_We'll be fine,_ she kept telling myself in her mind. She hoped that maybe she I thought it enough times, she would be able to believe it.

* * *

_Lucius._

Frowning, he stirred, his mind pulled from a sleep more peaceful than he had believed he could find by the Dark Lord's voice whispered into his unconscious thoughts.

_You will take Miss Greengrass to Diagon Alley, today. She will attack and cause as much chaos as possible, under your guidance. You may take some of the other Death Eaters with you as back-up. Do not disappoint me.  
So much for peace, _Lucius thought bitterly._ He's so certain I will fail again... but I will prove him wrong. _When the day came that he was able to prove the Dark Lord wrong and have that point acknowledged, Lucius felt he would probably spontaneously combust.

He opened his eyes to find light streaming in through the thin curtains and bathing the carpet in a pale glow. Narcissa lay asleep on his bare chest, and he could feel her breathing. With a long sigh, he ran a hand through her hair and debated how best to wake her.

This proved unnecessary. She shifted slightly, and as he chastised himself for being so careless with his movement, he understood that it was too late to worry about waking her. Narcissa sighed contentedly, looking up into his face with a radiant smile. After an instant, her smile faded and her face fell as she took note of something in Lucius's expression.

"What is it?" her tone was painstakingly neutral, but he detected the agitation beyond it.

_I should have let her sleep longer_, he thought. _The Dark Lord didn't say when I had to leave, and it was stupid to let my anxiety get to me._

"I'm sorry to wake you, love," he said honestly. "It's just that I've... found out something I have to do, today. It's nothing to worry about," he added hastily, fearing ruining her mood but knowing it was probably already too late. "I have a task I must complete for the Dark Lord."

With an exasperated sigh, she slid off of him and out of bed, dragging the sheet with her to serve as a makeshift robe.

"Of course you do."

She paced to the window, drew back the curtains, and looked out over the lawn.

He took a deep breath and closed his eyes. _Lucius, you're an idiot._ He stood and walked to where she stood, standing behind her and taking care to stay out of view of the window.

"I didn't mean to upset you, my sweet." He pulled her hair to the side a bit, leaned forward, and kissed the exposed skin of her neck gently. "I'm so sorry. What can I do to make it up to you?"

His hands slid downward from her hair and wrapped around her, his thumbs lightly brushing the bottoms of her breasts before resting on her ribcage. A chill ran through her, and for a moment, it appeared as though she had forgotten her anger. Unfortunately, this did not last.

"You can take me with you," Narcissa said with feigned calm.

Lucius froze. Part of him wanted to deny what he had heard, but the rest of him knew there was no way around it. He had not misunderstood Narcissa's words. He knew he should have seen something like this coming, but he had never really prepared himself for it.

"Cissy, I... I can't do that…"

She whipped around, staring furiously into his grey eyes.

"Why not? I'm perfectly capable of handling myself in a fight, and I won't be an inconvenience."

Though she tried to conceal it, she was hurt, and if that was what she believed his reasoning was for wishing her to stay behind, he could not blame her. In reality, that could not have been farther from the truth. Her presence would not be an inconvenience but a blessing, and he knew firsthand what a skilled duelist she was. Lucius knew he wasn't going to win this by telling her he was afraid for her safety, which was the absolute truth. No… he wasn't going to win this at all, no matter what he said. He leaned forward again and kissed her on the lips.

"Get dressed," he told her. "I'll tell the others to prepare, and we'll leave as soon as possible."

He turned away and made his way across the room to the dresser, rifling through it until he found the robes he was looking for. He dressed quickly and left the room without another word.

Lucius made his way through the guest wing, knocking on the doors of those he thought would be useful to join in Daphne's training. He had already awoken Nott and Jolie, and he came upon the next door with a feeling of unease settled in his stomach. He considered leaving without asking the man behind it to join him, but he knew that would be wrong. He had not asked Rodolphus because he believed his brother-in-law would be too distraught to fight with his head on straight, and Pettigrew would be useless. This one, as much as Lucius hated to admit it, could provide assistance.

He raised his hand and knocked on the door. "Augustus? It's Lucius. The Dark Lord has assigned me a task, and I wondered if you might accompany me."

For a long moment, there was silence in the corridor. Lucius glanced around anxiously, wondering if Rookwood was in the room at all or if he was wasting his time. Then the door opened, and Augustus stepped out. His dark hair was in disarray and his eyes were ringed with dark circles; it was clear that he hadn't slept well. He didn't say a word, and Lucius didn't ask. In silence, the two made their way downstairs.

Lucius was thoroughly on edge, though he had acquired skill at hiding such emotions over his years in the Dark Lord's service. He held his head high as he descended, forcing himself not to focus on how disastrously this day could go and instead choosing to consider how thrilling it would be to fight alongside his wife for the first time in twenty years.

Lucius and Augustus reached the foyer to find that Jolie had beaten them there and that Daphne had just arrived. Monika stood near the wall, Daphne's luggage in her hands. At the sight of Daphne, Augustus stiffened.

"I'm impressed, Miss Greengrass," said Lucius. "I hope this punctuality is a sign of things to come." He smiled.

"It is indeed, Mr. Malfoy." She returned his smile. "You'll find I can be quite the model student, when I enjoy what I'm studying."

"Understandable," said Lucius with a small nod. From what Draco had told him, much of the Slytherin student body had ceased to be amused by the lessons taught within the walls of Hogwarts. Much of it was sycophantic Muggle-loving nonsense, so he couldn't blame them.

"And please," he added to Daphne, "do call me Lucius."

Daphne nodded. "I'll try to remember that. Lucius." Her eyes flicked to Augustus, and her eyes hardened. Her smile remained in place, however, and she held her tongue.

The sound of footsteps on the stairs arrested Lucius's attention, and he turned to see Nott descending rather unsteadily. He was very obviously still suffering the effects of Firewhisky. He reached the group in the foyer, glanced to Rookwood for a moment, and then looked pointedly away, focusing instead on Daphne.

"Daphne, my girl, it's nice to see you. I hope you're ready for this task... Lucius is a slave-driver when it comes to training."

"You doing all right, Nottie?" asked Augustus. "You look like crap." The harsh, teasing tone in his voice made it obvious he wasn't actually concerned. This was not lost on Ryan.

With a heavy sigh, Nott looked to Rookwood with his expression made carefully blank.

"I can't imagine I look worse than you did last night, Rookwood. You know, after Daphne Crucio'd the hell out of you." Ryan grinned at him, folding his arms across his chest triumphantly.

Rookwood's eyes hardened. "Well, better than getting Avada Kedavra'd, am I right? Or maybe I should be asking your son that. He would certainly know."

Nott drew his wand. "Would you like to be the next to find out?" He took a menacing step toward Rookwood.

Lucius sighed heavily and placed himself between his two quarreling guests, resting a hand on each of their shoulders and holding Ryan back.

"Gentlemen, you are setting a terrible example for my young apprentice."

Ryan turned his glare on Lucius. "Daphne is quite aware of what a prat Rookwood is. Please remove your hand, Lucius. I don't want to hex you."

Augustus stared at the wand pointed in his face. "Prat? Takes one to know one, I guess. As for Lucius, you would curse your own host while in his house? How disrespectful. You should be ashamed of yourself." A grin of cruel mischief spread over his face.

"What's this about cursing the host?"

Lucius looked up at the voice from the top of the stairs. Narcissa stood watching those below warily. He believed he saw her sigh.

"I have to agree with Augustus," she said. "Ryan, I would ask you kindly not to attack my husband, or you will have to contend with me."

She started down the stairs, staring at the group of Death Eaters all the while. Lucius's heart began to pound, and the idea of her being a part of this group began to solidify in his mind. He wanted more than anything to take back his agreement to let her join them, but he knew it was too late.

"I thought we were leaving, anyway," said Narcissa, as if to punctuate Lucius's thoughts.

Rookwood smiled at her words, and something in Lucius's stomach twisted. "I think that's a marvelous idea. Where are we going anyway, Lucius?"

Lucius fought down the urge to scowl. Instead, he forced a smile. "Diagon Alley."

Nott, who had been glaring daggers at Rookwood, blinked. "Narcissa, did you say 'we'?"

"Yes, Ryan," she sighed, moving to stand beside Lucius, who instinctively shifted closer to her and rested a hand on her waist. She stood between him and Rookwood. "I'm coming with you."

Nott took a step back, slipping out from Lucius's hand and folding his arms across his chest as he stared at Narcissa. His eyes flicked from her to Lucius and back, and he laughed.

"You _can't_ be serious. The Dark Lord would not approve of this. She'll get herself killed!"

"She won't get herself killed," snarled Augustus. "She's Narcissa Malfoy, not your son."

Ryan pushed past Lucius–who huffed indignantly–drew back his arm, and punched Rookwood in the nose as hard as he could. Lucius heard a crunch beneath Nott's fist as it made contact with the cartilage. Nott looked down at his hand and the blood on his knuckles, smirking.

Taking a second to try and keep himself from choking on the blood pouring from his nose, Rookwood reached for his wand, slashing at Nott.

"Incarcerous!"

Ropes sprang from his wand, wrapping themselves around Nott and simultaneously tossing him into the wall.

Nott cried out in frustration and surprise as his back made contact with the wall and he fell, bound, to the floor. "SO HELP ME, ROOKWOOD, WHEN I GET OUT OF THIS–" He hurled incoherent curses as the color rose in his cheeks.

Narcissa drew her wand. "I've had enough of this," she said calmly. She slipped out of Lucius's arm and moved forward, taking aim at Nott. "_Silencio._" Then Rookwood. "_Expelliarmus._" Nott fell abruptly silent, and Rookwood's wand flew from his grasp.

Lucius watched furiously as, for the third time in less than twenty-four hours, his guests resorted to physical violence in his home. Had they not been standing so close to Narcissa when it happened, he doubted he would have been so livid. It seemed her presence within this group of angry and unpredictable Death Eaters had struck a nerve within him, and their usual antics drove him to fury. He could handle them threatening him, but this... no.

He strode briskly toward Rookwood and Nott, the clicking of his shoes and walking stick on the polished floor in time with the rapid beating of his heart.

"If you _ever_ behave this way under my roof again, regardless of what the Dark Lord has allowed, the two of you will be out."

Narcissa listened to her husband's words and then nodded. With a sigh, she turned her wand on the two on the floor once again.

"_Finite Incantatem._" She released Nott from the effects of her Silencing Charm, and Monika rushed to Augustus's side and passed him his wand, along with a handkerchief for his bleeding nose, all the while eyeing the bloodied floor she would later be responsible for cleaning up.

Augustus wiped his bloodied face on the handkerchief brought to him before raising his hands in surrender and smirking at the two Malfoys.

"All right, all right, chill. Nottie and I were just messing around."

Lucius rolled his eyes and straightened his collar before turning away from Rookwood. "Now that that little outburst is at an end, I believe it is time to go." He raised his hood and looped his arm through his wife's, starting for the front door. "Daphne," he said, addressing the girl who had remained silent through much of the last debacle, "I suggest you wear your hood. The rest of you, as well," he added to the others. "We don't want our cover blown before we've had a chance to do anything."

He led Narcissa out the door and down the path, and they Disapparated for Diagon Alley.


	8. Welcome To The Black Parade

**Chapter Eight, in which we find out what happened to Wolverine after the crash. Ahead, there's vampires, violence, and Firewhiskey. We do not own the title, My Chemical Romance does. **

**~Narcissa**

* * *

**Chapter Eight**

**Welcome To The Black Parade**

_What the hell happened?_

Wolverine rubbed his head, his headache beginning to return as he wandered through London, near which he had crash landed with some other X-Men not long ago. They had all just... disappeared. Even with his heightened senses he just... couldn't find them.

Logan sighed and looked up see a building that looked like it might be condemned, but he could hear something from within. Could smell it, too. _Kinda like..._

_Whiskey._

He looked around quickly to make sure no one was around before he started following his nose. He walked up to the door and turned the knob.

_What the–?_

The inside was completely different that the outside. It was bustling with life, drink, and conversation. _It'__s a bar_, Logan thought with a grin. _Been awhile..._ He sat down in a stool by the bar's counter and signaled for the barkeep.

"Is this your first time at the Leaky?"

As the bartender began to make his way in his direction, Logan heard a voice from the seat next to him. He turned in his seat a little to get a good look at her. She wore a lot of gold and red and smiled at him with blue eyes. Her hair was auburn, and he was relatively sure she was a teenager.

"Yeah," he said, his voice sounding a little gruffer than usual. "Have any drink recommendations?" He asked when the bartender finally reached him.

Then he felt a strange prickling on the back of his neck. A feeling he recognized and something he wasn't too fond of. Another mind within his own, probing through his thoughts and sifting through God knew what. Wolverine didn't try to fight it; that would be pointless. Instead, he stayed calm and focused on the conversation at hand. _Maybe I'll get a good drink here..._

"The Butterbeer is excellent," the girl told him, raising her glass a bit for emphasis. "It's like nothing you've ever tasted, I can promise you that. I'm Stella, by the way. Stella Ravenwood." She set her glass back on the bar and offered him a hand.

Wolverine looked around for a moment and noticed that everyone dressed a little... weird. Or, at least, not in a way he was used to. Cloaks, pointy hats, what looked like robes…

"Stella, huh?" He leaned back a little in his seat before introducing himself. "Name's Logan." He took her hand and gave it a firm shake.

"It's nice to meet you, Logan."

"Butterbeer?" he asked after releasing her from his grip. "Sounds kinda weak. I guess I'll try it, though." He waved a hand at the bartender, who understood and went to fetch one.

"It's... different than normal beer. Or, so I've heard," she added hastily, her cheeks flushing.

Logan chuckled and nodded. "Yeah… same here. 'Heard.' I'm guessin' you know this town pretty well?"

Right on time, the Butterbeer arrived. The barkeep made a move to open it with a bottle opener, but Logan waved him off with a hand. The man looked at him skeptically and moved away. Logan picked it up with one hand and popped it open with the fingers of the other. It came off without too much fuss, and he took a swig.

What it didn't have in kick, it did make up for in flavor. Definitely had a better taste than the average beer, but he'd give it a six out of ten.

"Yeah, I know a fair bit about London," said Stella. "I've lived here most of my life, not counting school. We moved here from the country when I was a girl." She sighed wistfully, and paused for a moment, lost in thought, before going on. "For the most part, London's a great place to be. There's the occasional... odd person one meets..." She glanced around the bar somewhat warily. "...but it's home."

From what she said, London sounded like a pretty nice place. Logan might have her show him around, since he didn't have much else to do. But before that, another question arose.

"You're a student?"

Stella nodded, smiling. "I'm in my seventh year of Hogwarts. I'm going to be Head Girl." She blushed again, appearing surprised the last part had slipped out of her mouth.

Logan smiled at her and laughed a little bit as she blushed. "Hogwarts? Interesting name for a school." Stella laughed, and Logan went on. "And seven years sounds more like a college than a high school or somethin'." He took another drink, this one a bit longer before setting it down on the table. "So, Head Girl, huh? Sounds pretty special."

Stella paused, her expression thoughtful and potentially a bit worried. "It is definitely not... high school." She blinked and seemed to shake herself, returning to her normal smile. "Thank you, it's an honor. Professor McGonagall seems to think I'll be good at helping the younger students, and I hope she's right."

Logan nodded and smiled kindly. "I happen to be a teacher, myself. I'd imagine you'll do ju–"

"Don't let her fool you. The butterbeer's fine, but Firewhiskey is what all the grown-ups drink."

Logan turned to see a woman take the seat on the other side of him as she flipped her hair and smiled at him. She was very a pale brunette, with brown eyes that looked a bit off in color from any he had ever seen and a fantastic figure. He had to admit... she was rather alluring, but something deep inside told him something wasn't quite right with her.

"Firewhiskey, huh? Sounds about my speed." He motioned once more for the bartender, who rushed off to fetch Logan's next drink as he finished his first. He then turned back to Stella and finished what he was saying. "Anyway, I'm sure you'll do just fine with the kids."

"Thanks, I appreciate that." Stella glanced from him to the newcomer with a raised eyebrow. "Where do you teach?"

That's when he smelled it. It was like... faint death wrapped in coco butter. A scent he'd become accustomed to, because it was pretty damn close to his own. He slowly turned back to the other woman with a slight glint in his eye.

"Ain't that somethin'..." he mumbled under his breath.

"Something the matter, handsome?" she asked coolly, her hands folded on the bar as she watched him.

"Nah," he said to the strange woman as his Firewhiskey slid across the counter. He took it in one hand and popped the top off with his thumb. "New York," he said to Stella without turning around as he took a big gulp.

"Wow, New York, that's…"

If Logan didn't have his alcohol tolerance, not to mention his abilities, the drink would've probably burned his throat, but it just tickled him as it went down. Stella did have good taste, though. This tasted like death. He put it back on the counter with a bit more of a thud than he had intended.

"So what's your name?" he asked the woman, more out of common courtesy for someone that just recommended a drink than out of any real interest. Stella sighed softly from behind him.

"Nice talking to you, Logan. Maybe I'll see you around." He turned to see Stella put money on the counter for her drink, pull the cloak she was wearing tighter around herself, and walk out the back door. Logan felt bad for ignoring her, but… _Whatever. It can't be helped. _

"Cassandra. Friends call me Cassie." The woman seated on his left smiled at him for a moment before turning to the blonde. "No, sweetie, I'm a regular."

Logan took another drink of his Firewhiskey and noticed that he'd already downed nearly half of it. It had about the same potency as normal whiskey, so he wasn't even buzzed yet, though his headache was a little better.

"Cassie, huh? You from around here, too?" he asked.

Cassandra nodded. "More or less. I've been in London longer than I like to admit." She paused. "You said you're from New York... what brings you here?"

His mind instantly recalled the fiery crash and the empty, scarred field he had woken up in. On top of all of that, his headache came back again in full force. He chased it down with a long drink of Firewhiskey.

"I guess you could say it was a... field trip." Being honest with himself, though, he didn't think anyone really knew why the hell he and the others had to come out here...

She frowned when she noticed his pain, but she thought better of asking him about it. She took a drink. "I see. Well, since you're on a field trip, would you like a tour? I could show you Diagon Alley; it's right outside."

Downing the rest of the whiskey and tossing some money that was probably more than his drinks were worth onto the bar, Logan nodded at Cassandra. "Sure. I could use a walk," he said, his voice still gruff.

She nodded and smiled charmingly. Logan rubbed his eyes for a second as she stood, stretching, and tried to take his focus from the headache that was currently trying to split his head in half. His cracked his neck and stood.

"Right this way," Cassandra said to him, offering her arm. He stared at it awkwardly for a moment, not really sure if he should take it. Somewhat stiffly, mainly because he was a little out of practice, he took her arm from a gentleman's position and let her lead him out the door.

They were in a small, bricked-up alleyway. He frowned, thoroughly confused. She was not bothered; with her free hand, she tapped a series of bricks in a strangely specific order, and the wall shifted. The bricks slid and reorganized themselves, moving apart at the center to allow them through and reveal a thriving, hidden street.

Arm-in-arm, they stepped into the sunshine from the Leaky Cauldron. Cassie instantly changed their course, keeping them within the shadows as they moved in front of the buildings.

"There's Madam Malkin's Robe Shop, and Scrivenshaft's Quill Emporium... Flourish and Blott's Bookstore..." She pointed out each as they passed.

With Cassie leading him down... what did she call it? Diagon Alley? Everything seemed to be a lot different than when Logan had first arrived_. I mean, sure_, he thought, _I was pretty messed up from the crash and all, but certainly I wouldn't have missed... this. _Everything was much nicer than what it used to be._ I dunno. Maybe this girl's playin' some crazy mind games on me_. He kept the idea in the back of his head as they continued together and he looked through the glass and into the floor rooms of several shops.

"Interestin'..." he said, looking into a shop that looked like it had a bunch of shoe boxes lined up on bookshelves.

Cassandra nodded. "There's no place quite like it. There's Honeydukes up there..." She pointed to what looked like an enormous candy store. A pause followed. "You seem so... new to all of this, for lack of a better phrase. But you got into the Leaky Cauldron, so you're obviously not a Muggle."

Muggle?

She stopped walking and looked at him intently, and he raised an eyebrow. "Level with me, Logan. What's your story?"

At the mention of his past, his mind ran through the last several years until he eventually hit the dreaded stop, where he seem to just... start existing.

So... what should he tell her? That he was a raging mutant with a killer knack for taking off heads? Nah, he didn't think so. What was more subtle, then? He scratched his head for a moment, hoping for something to distract her for a just a minute so he could give her a solid answer without blowing his cover.

"I suppose that's only fair..." he said slowly, still sifting through various answers. _Think, Logan, think!_

She seemed to notice his hesitation. "I'm not your typical witch, you know. I'm... _different_, too, you could say."

His mind went into hyper-drive at the mention of the word 'witch.' He stared at her with a burning intensity and added the rest of the words and put them together. He took in another deep breath and scent of death mixed with coco butter hit him again, along with the smell from before, which seemed to be unique to her.

_This day keeps gettin' weirder and weirder,_ he thought to himself without letting too much of his thoughts seep into his physical expression.

"Listen, lady. I don't know your deal, but the last time I checked, witches ride broom sticks over the moon and have warts on their noses, not beauty marks," he said with a slight, crooked grin, not realizing the harshness in his words until afterwards. "But I guess that's the 'not the typical' part, huh..." His voice waned as he scratched his neck, instinct starting to tell him he might need to split.

She gaped at him for a long moment before finding her voice. "Allow me to show you." She produced her wand from within her robes and took aim at a packaged object frog on a nearby street-vendor's cart. "_Wingardium Leviosa_," she muttered, and the item soared into the air, spinning as it floated down into her open palm. Logan now saw that the package said "Chocolate Frog." Cassie tossed the correct amount of money onto the cart a bit grudgingly.

He had to admit, he was a bit skeptical when she first pulled out the wand. It was like she was some cosplayer or something, but after using that wand to nab the chocolate frog, he believed her. _Though, it could be somethin' simple like telekinesis, but hey, whatever floats 'er boat._

"Missing the warts?" she said with a smirk.

"Definitely better without 'em," he said back to her with an amused smile.

She laughed. "Good to know."

He laughed, too, for a moment, glad that he hadn't evoked the wrath of a witch. If they were anything like telepaths, that wouldn't have gone well.

She then froze, looking for a moment as though she might become ill. She paused to catch her breath, and then she looked again to Logan. "What about you? You're not a wizard, but you're not a Muggle. I don't understand."

He tilted his head a bit after hearing the same word twice now. He tested it on his own tongue.

"Muggle? I'm definitely no wizard." He chuckled for a moment before looking to her again for the answer to his question, glad to have gotten the moment he had hoped for.

She smiled and shook her head. "A Muggle is a non-magical person... a human, I suppose, without any special abilities."

_A non-magical, regular old joe, eh? Well... I'm not exactly a human, but I wouldn't say 'magical' is part of me, either..._

Looking at her, he could tell she was enjoying herself. With what, exactly? He wasn't quite sure, but he couldn't stop himself from smiling like an idiot. Maybe that had something to do with the scent he had been getting off of her...

"Well," he said to her, finally putting a believable story together, "I guess you could say I'm somethin' like..." He looked around at the various signs and posters around the Alley and spotted one of a wolf howling at the moon. It would be incorrect, but... "A werewolf, though not quite." His voice was calm and reasonable. Or, as reasonable as werewolves could be.

Still smiling, she raised an eyebrow. "A werewolf, hmm? How intriguing. When were you turned?"

_Welp, that cover didn't last long._

Logan decided to be as honest as possible with her and answer with what was, for all intents and purposes, the truth.

"I don't have an exact date, but pretty much as long as I can remember. I've just... been this way," he said, feeling his hand involuntarily clench, instinct still yelling furiously at him to shut up.

She nodded her understanding slowly, and she inhaled deeply. "I was born," she told him carefully, "on July 13, 1886."

He looked over her face, which appeared to be pretty young for a hundred-some-odd-year-old woman. She didn't look a day past her twenties. For whatever reason, his lips turned upwards and into a smile.

_I guess that's the different part. Somethin' we probably have in common..._

"I don't even remember when I was born," said Logan, his words truthful down to the last letter.

"That's incredible." She smiled genuinely.

_I wouldn't necessarily say incredible_, Logan thought to himself as he looked at her lips to see her smile. As it broadened, he caught a glimpse of two sharp, white fangs among the otherwise normal teeth that lined her mouth. Instinct told him...

_Vampire._

He couldn't say he was too worried, though. She would probably just end up breaking her teeth if she tried to suck his blood. He probably wouldn't taste all that good, anyway.

_So, let's count 'em up, shall we? She's got a body like a model, a mind like a scholar, and has a killer taste for... blood. She's different, all right._

Playfully, Logan opened his mouth and bit back down quickly, chomping the air as he winked at her.

She tossed her head back and laughed, shifting her weight and putting one of her hands on her hip. She then took a step toward him, watching him closely. "So, you're not afraid of me?"

To him, the question almost sounded like one she normally didn't like knowing the answer to, but he thought he have the one she wanted.

"Scared of _you_?" He gave her a half grin, half dangerous smirk.

_If anybody should be afraid of anybody_, he thought, _that person should probably be me._

She smiled seductively and closed the remaining distance between them, looking up into his face. "Maybe you should be." She stood up on her toes and moved her lips toward his neck, her fangs bared.

He wasn't entirely sure what he was doing. Instinct knew exactly what it wanted to do. It wanted him to raise his arm and shove his adamantium claws deep into her chest and get her away from him.

But he fought instinct. _And if that doesn't tell ya somethin'... _

"Careful," he said, his voice somewhat quiet and deep. "I might bite back."

Though, what she really needed to be careful of was the bone beneath the skin.

There was a long moment of silence as she moved impossibly closer. Expecting a bite of some sort, Logan could feel the rush of adrenaline in his blood. His heart pumped faster and he felt a little tingly. But it seemed that she had changed her mind as, instead of piercing fangs, a pair of soft lips kissed his neck. He heard her sigh and shift away from him. He had to admit, even though it was weird as the idea played around in his head, that he was a little disappointed.

When she spoke, her face was well masked, but her eyes looked a tad lost; sad even.

"You don't want to get tangled up with a girl like me," she said, her gaze more directed at the ground than at him.

He reached out toward her with his hand, but he stopped about midway to her.

What the hell was he doing? They had just met! But before he could answer this question for himself, he heard a strange sound that seemed to just appear; it was a whooshing kind of noise. He ignored it for a moment and put his hand down.

"Cassandra..." he heard his voice say, but it drifted off, having no other words to say.

Suddenly, two wisps of black smoke shot to the ground at the center of the street, shifting as they landed into the figures of two people wearing black cloaks with hoods over their faces. The one on the left was rather tall and appeared to be the figure of a man, and the one at his side was considerably smaller and more feminine.

The man produced a wand somewhat like Cassandra's, but this one had a silver, metal handle that precisely resembled a snake's head.

"_Expulso!_"

The street-vendor's cart at which he had taken aim ignited, its contents tossed violently into the air as several people standing near it were thrown backward. The hooded woman also drew a wand, but she did not strike. Screams filled the Alley, and people began to scatter.

"Bloody hell," said Cassie under her breath before letting out a small hiss.

Another man materialized in the same way as the first pair, shouting "_Confringo!_" at the front of the store nearest him. The windows blasted from their walls, shooting shards of glass at the frightened passersby. An instant later, yet another appeared from the black vapor, slashing his wand in the direction of a black-haired girl in blue and silver who looked around Stella's age.

"_Diffindo._"

Logan watched as the spell discharged cut across the girl's stomach, spattering blood everywhere as she fell to the ground.

"In a bit of a foul mood, Nottie?" called the one who had arrived just before the last man. He then vanished–teleportation?–reappearing on the other side of the alley before using a particularly nasty curse on a random man who was unfortunate enough to catch his eye. As Logan watched, the man's entrails began to pour their way from his body.

"Not at all," snarled 'Nottie.' "What's the matter, Rookwood? Scared I'll do worse to you than Daphne did?" he called. A group of scared shoppers attempted to pass him, and he took aim at the ground beneath them. "_Confringo!_" The ground exploded, sending cobblestones and screaming people in all directions.

More mist-figures solidified. Another female sent a curse flying at a man running past her, and his knees reversed, leading him to fall to the ground. She took aim once more before calling "_Crucio!_" The man she attacked began to scream and writhe in pain.

"_Avada Kedavra._"

The first man to arrive had taken aim at a teenage boy who wore gold, and a flash of green light filled the alley before the boy fell, unmoving, to the cobblestones.

As death and destruction bloomed around Logan, he took it all in, confused as all hell as to what was going on.

Were they killing people with just words?!

As the boy dressed in gold colors fell to the ground, he decided he'd had enough and, the beast within excited by the blood, flexed his wrists.

_Snikt! _

All six claws extended, giving him only a brief amount of pain as they passed through the space in between his knuckles; a sensation that he was pretty much used to, by now. He charged toward the nearest one, who had caused a random stranger's entrails to spill onto the street. Rookwood, one of the others had said. His back was to Logan, who brought his arm back as he sprinted, hoping his target wouldn't turn around and would save him the trouble of a drawn out fight as his claws centered in on the small of his back.


	9. Save Yourself, I'll Hold Them Back

**AN: This chapter was incredibly difficult to translate from RP to fic form. It hits fourteen points-of-view in rapid succession, and I apologize if that gets confusing. There wasn't a single narrator that saw everything, so it was necessary to shift frequently. Violence and language follow, as well as a one-line reference to Scary Movie, which we do not own. The title is from the My Chemical Romance song, which we also do not own. **

**~Narcissa **

* * *

**Chapter Nine**

**Save Yourself, I'll Hold Them Back**

The instant Jolie became tangible, she sent a Cruciatus Curse hurtling at the woman hiding in the shadows–Cassandra. Keeping her wand trained on her target, Jolie watched as her allies wreaked destruction and death on Diagon Alley.

Gritting her teeth in pain, Cassie fell to the ground. It had been over a century since she had felt the agony of the Cruciatus Curse, but its return brought back every ounce of pain she had felt in her time as an Auror. She watched as Logan ran off after one of the Death Eaters, captive to her pain, tossing and turning in the street.

The moment Ted Tonks set foot out of the hospital after visiting his wife and Dora, he Apparated to the place in suspicion. According to the information he was quickly briefed on, whatever was going on was taking place in Diagon Alley. It couldn't have happened at a worse time.

Ted scanned over the faces of the crowd and saw several students, some of whom were probably less than third years, as they scrambled about to get away as fast as possible from the Death Eaters. As he whipped out his wand to fight, a man who seemed to be carrying knives stabbed a cloak figure in the back.

_Hope he's on my side_, Ted thought as he turned to find a target. Seeing a woman writhing in pain on the ground under the influence of the Cruciatus Curse, he took aim at her tormentor. "_Expelliamus!_" For good measure, he followed the disarming spell immediately with  
"_Flipendo Duo!_" At the sound of his voice, a shower of blue sparks rocketed out of his wand and hurled at the Death Eater.

Jolie had been too engrossed in tormenting Cassandra to notice when Ted appeared. Her wand flew from her hand, and she turned toward the source of the disarming spell, her eyes alive with fury. She had no time to react before she was hit by the second spell, and she was sent hurtling end over end down the street. She hit the ground with an unwelcome thud and knew several places on her body were bruised and scraped, but she pushed herself up and ran for where her wand had fallen.

As the street around her went all to hell, Narcissa felt a change taking place within her. Yes, she had always known what happened on the nights she waited up until all hours for Lucius to return from a mission given to him by the Dark Lord. Yes, she knew what the Death Eaters did.

But there was a difference between being aware of what happened and watching for the first time as her husband killed someone. There was nothing she could do to erase that image from her mind, and she doubted she would ever be able to. She could not allow her focus to linger on that, because it was time for her to do something other than just stand there and watch.

She took aim at a random wizard on the other side of the street.

"_Incarcerous._"

Her eyes widened in terror as she watched Augustus fall to the ground, sliding off–what were those, _knives_ protruding from his attacker's hands?! _What the bloody hell just happened?!_ She lunged forward to rush to his aid, but she was blasted away by the window of the nearest shop exploding outward. She flew into a crowd of bystanders, who screamed and scattered, leaving her lying on the cobblestones, her body aching.

Stella crouched behind a vendor's cart, listening to the screams and taking in the various-colored flashes of light with pure terror. This was, without a doubt, the most frightened she had ever been in her life. Her bag of newly-bought school items lay forgotten beside her, and she clutched her wand tightly enough to turn her knuckles white.

_Get it together, Stella,_ she told herself. _You can do this. Help those people out there._

She stood up long enough to fling an _Expelliarmus_ at no one in particular and threw herself back down onto the ground.

Rodolphus Apparated into the middle of the alley in a fit of anger after catching word about this little plan. Why wasn't _he_ invited?! Surely they realized he could use something to relieve the anger of his current situation, what with his pregnant wife being imprisoned.

At least he had his entire entrance planned out. He would show up, send five explosions in every building each, and send a rain of fire down upon the entire alley, watching as everything burned to the ground. And he would feel great about it. He smirked at his own idea.

Now that he was here, he raised his wand, just to have it get shot out of his hand by a rogue Disarming spell. _...Well. That took the wind out of my sail._

Ryan Nott watched the others, his lips curling into a smirk when Rookwood was injured. "Shake it off, Rooky," he called.

A jet of blue light flew past him to disarm the newly-appeared Rodolphus, and Nott turned around just in time to see the one who sent it duck behind a cart. His robes billowing behind him as he moved, he walked toward the cart and, without warning, grabbed the girl roughly by the arm and pulled her out into the street. He noted the red and gold colors of her attire, and he laughed coldly.

"Gryffindor isn't teaching its students aim, I see. Unfortunately, dearie, the Dark Lord is. _Crucio._"

As Stella was hit by the Cruciatus Curse, she recalled everything she had ever been taught about it in class, but nothing had prepared her for this. It was pure, white-hot agony, and she could not stop herself from screaming.

_Crap._

Rookwood could feel blood seeping onto his robes. What felt like knives were pulled from his back, and he fell to the ground immediately. His attacker moved on, and Augustus crawled behind the nearest object, using it as a barricade. He cried out in pain as he attempted to move his wand to his back.

Having thoroughly disarmed his first opponent, Ted turned to find his next target. It didn't take long before he found the man at the middle of it all. If Ted had to guess, this man was probably the first one to arrive here and start this whole mess.

Ted raised his wand and advanced on him, waving his wand forcefully downwards as he prepared his next spell on the hooded man.

"_Deprimo!_"

Lucius flicked his wrist upward, quickly calling, "_Protego!_" on instinct as a spell hurtled in his direction. His mind registered at last who his attacker had been, and his lips curled into a dark smirk.

"My, if it isn't Ted Tonks. Merlin, you look rough. How's the family?" Lucius kept his wand trained on his wife's brother-in-law, ready to strike at the smallest provocation.

"Been a little bloodthirsty, as of late. I have to say, I'm feeling the same, right about now."

Lucius recalled hearing that Ted's wife and daughter had been mauled by Greyback at Little Hangleton, and he idly wondered if they would be turned.

"Are you even allowed to feel bloodthirsty?" he asked Ted conversationally. "I thought Aurors were above feeling such things?"

"And I thought men were above using women's haircare products, but here you are, Lucius."

Beneath his hood, Lucius sneered. He hadn't bothered with keeping his identity a secret; he had known Ted would recognize his voice. "Of course Mudblood filth like you wouldn't know about good hygiene… pity, really."

"Enough banter, brother. _Petrifi–_"

"_Diffindo!_" cried Lucius, cutting off Ted's spell as his own cut deeply into the Auror's leg. Ted fell to the cobblestones with a cry of pain, and Lucius advanced. "You should have stayed out of this. Your family will have a rough enough time without mourning you."

"And what about yours? _Relashio!_" A jet of fiery sparks burst from Ted's wand, singing Lucius's robes as he ducked out of the way. "You managed to kill my dear sister-in-law, yet?"

"_REDUCTO!_" cried Lucius. Ted was blasted backward, flying into a crowd of terrified bystanders.

Narcissa felt a stab of pain in her arm, and she pushed herself up into a sitting position to examine it. The fall had torn her sleeve, which allowed her to see that her skin was scraped and bloody, but the arm did not appear to be broken. With a deep breath, she stood and ran back into the street. When she saw Rodolphus, she felt a stab of regret for forgetting to tell him about the plan. She had thought Lucius would inform everyone, but she supposed she had been wrong.

She raced down the street, recovered her brother-in-law's wand, and tossed it back to him. "Nice to see you, Roddy." She attempted to smile.

"Thanks," he said, catching the wand. "It would be nice if others would be kind enough to invite me to these things." He looked up to see the one who disarmed him to be taken care of by Nott. He smirked, then flicked his wand in no direction in particular, sending a ball of fire to who-cared-where. "Ah, I needed that."

Having been freed from the Cruciatus Curse, Cassie had lain down on the cobblestones to catch her breath. After she realized her attacker had been subdued, she stood just in time to be assaulted by a ball of fire. She felt her hair singe, and the heat of the fire stung her skin, but she lunged forward and passed thought it, leaving it to whoever was behind her. She caught sight of the man who had conjured it, and she reached out with her newly-found abilities to toss him into the woman he had been speaking to.

Rodolphus and Narcissa fell to the ground. Rodolphus looked up to see the woman who had tossed him still holding her hand out at him, and he immediately assumed she was a skilled witch. He quickly lifted himself off of Narcissa, apologizing, of course, and she pushed herself to her feet, telling him it was quite all right.

He looked back to his attacker a said, "Two can play at this game. _Mobilicorpus!_" He locked his wand onto the woman and sent her into the side of a burning building, hoping she 'liked' fire.

Narcissa glared at Cassandra, but Rodolphus had a handle on the situation, and she elected not to interfere. She instead sought out the man who had attacked Augustus, spotting him down the street and slashing her wand in his direction. "_Petrificus totalus!_"

The world around Cassie spun as the right side of her body made contact with a building she realized a few seconds later was ablaze. Apparently, this wizard had a proclivity for fire. The flames clung to her for a moment, and then she mentally pulled all of the oxygen from them, and they died.

_If you like fire,_ she thought,_ let's see how you handle this._ She reached out with her mind, lifted one of the flaming carts, and sent it flying at him.

Rodolphus quickly ducked and rolled under the blazing cart. He was, to be honest, amazed by this witch's abilities. He might have some fun with her. He aimed his wand at her once more and shouted "_Glacius Tria!_" He then advanced, planning out what exactly he would do with her.

_Well, hell._

Cassie was instantly frozen, and she had to severely rethink several of the life choices that had led her here. Perhaps she could find a way out of this, but she didn't really know. Until then, she was left at the mercy of the wizard she had just thrown a flaming cart at. This would be fun.

Wolverine flexed his arm and watched as Rookwood hid behind the barricade, leaving a trail of dark red blood behind him. Scanning the street, he found Cassandra, who seemed to be holding her own pretty well against these... wizards.

He looked back to the man he had effectively shanked in the back like a prison inmate. He withdrew the claws of his right hand and cracked his knuckles as he walked up to Rookwood, who was lifting a stick up to his back.

"Uh-uh, bub." Wolverine drew his hand back to sock Rookwood in the face, settling to knock him out instead of killing hi–

_What the!?_

He felt something hit him in the back and when he tried to turn and see what it was...

_I can't move!_

His body locked, and he fell over to the side and hit his head on the cobblestones.

Ravenclaw student and soon-to-be Head Boy Lance Ampridge had been at one end of the street helping second-years pick out books when he sounds of immense explosions, followed by screams and cries for help. He had told the students that were in his company to hide as he drew his wand and ran to help.

By the time he had arrived, entire buildings were on fire, several people were dead and many of the witches and wizards there were already locked in a crazy dance of death. His heart pounded and his breathing hitched as he realized what he had gotten himself into.

_Death Eaters._

Then he heard it. The sound of a scream that was terrifying to hear, because it was one that he was very familiar with, although he had never heard her scream since they were first years.

"_Stella!?_"

He yelled her name as he turned the corner of a shop to find her convulsing on the ground as a Death Eater pinned her down with the Cruciatus Curse, mercilessly continuing her torment. Lance's hand shook as he raised his wand and went through the list of spells he had learned that would be of the most use in this situation. He wasn't new to fighting and he had been in many duels before, but... _Now isn't the time to doubt yourself!_ He shook his head and cleared his worries, focusing on the task at hand. Once he had done so, it only took about a second more before he found a spell, and it was a basic one at that. He took in a shaky breath and yelled, his voice gaining a vibrato due to his nervousness, but still working all the same.

"_Expelliamus!_"

Nott's wand flew from his hand and out of sight, amid the warring Death Eaters and citizens, and he rounded on his attacker, his eyes ablaze beneath his hood.

"Any idea what you're getting yourself into, boy?"

Ryan charged at him and swung his leg out, attempting to kick the boy's out from under him.

Freed at last from the torment of the worst spell she had ever endured, Stella paused for breath. She then realized that she knew the voice of the one who had saved her, and her head snapped upward to search him out.

"_Lance?!_"

He was so far away... but she had to try. She picked up her wand and ran after the Death Eater who had attacked her, noticing as she passed someone she recognized after a moment as Logan that he had been petrified.

Daphne Greengrass watched as more and more people died and were tortured, and she felt challenged. This was a test, wasn't it? A training exercise? Then perhaps she should follow the lead of her teacher. She had seen Lucius kill a Hufflepuff student. Perhaps another of the Unforgivables was her next step.

She ended the Cruciatus Curse she had been performing and drew back her arm. Her victim relaxed for a moment, and then with a flick of her wrist, she said "_Avada Kedavra._"

Augustus finally gave up on reaching his back, the pain too great to bend that far. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a man come toward him. He assumed it was the same man who had attacked him only moments ago, if the long blades sticking out of one of his hands were any indicators. Someone sent a curse at his back, and Rookwood breathed a sigh of release as the hit the pavement. The sigh only sent another racket of pain through Augustus.

"_STUPEFY!_"

Daphne heard the shout before she saw the spell. She dove out of the way, scraping her legs terribly as she slid behind a cart to get out of the way. She took a moment to catch her breath, which was heavy with the anxiety of performing her first Killing Curse.

Suddenly, another body hit the small barricade beside Augustus. The Greengrass girl. Of course. He couldn't help but laugh, even though it hurt to do so.

"Hey there. What's up?"

Daphne raised an eyebrow at him, incredulous. He was obviously in pain, but he was laughing. Perhaps it was the irony of the situation that had drawn that reaction from him, or perhaps he was really that crazy.

"Oh, nothing much," she said sardonically. "Staying alive. You?"

He took in the look on her face, and he had to laugh again. "Oh, you know, chillin', killin'. Hey, you know the _Vulnera Sanentur _spell? That healing spell you have to repeat three times?"

She simply stared at him when he laughed a second time. She knew he didn't take much seriously, but this was odd even for him. She racked her brain for the spell in question, and she did believe she recalled learning about it in school. But less than twenty-four hours ago, this man had provoked her to use the Cruciatus Curse on him by insulting Theo's memory, skills, and father. She owed him nothing apart from maybe a second round.

"I think I know it, yes." She forced her expression into neutrality as she watched him. "But why are you asking _me?_"

He raised his eyebrow as her expression evened out. "Because I can't reach."

With that, he painfully turned his back to her, lifting up his cloak so that she could see the wound and blood-soaked robes underneath.

Daphne couldn't help it–she gasped, and her hand flew to her mouth. The wound beneath consisted of three bleeding and perfectly-spaced puncture-wounds, the likes of which she had never seen before. This was something she wouldn't wish on her worst enemy, which was, coincidentally and at the moment, him.

"Merlin, that looks painful." She sighed and shifted to better reach the wound. "Hold still, okay? This may hurt, but it should help you." She held her wand over the bloodied and punctured area of his back and inhaled deeply, preparing to attempt this spell for the first time and actually hoping it worked. "_Vulnera Sanentur. Vulnera Sanentur. Vulnera Sanentur._"

Rookwood sighed heavily as the spell took effect. Turning back to her, he grinned.

"Thanks for that. Now, back into the fray!" Jumping up, he threw a curse at the man Lucius was fighting, hoping to steal a bit of Malfoy's thunder. Looking down, he saw the man who had stabbed him. Augustus kicked him hard in the temple before Apparating over near Rodolphus's fight, itching to get involved.

Daphne nodded as Rookwood stood and disappeared into the fray. She blinked. _Well, that was fast._ With a little of her respect for him restored, she stood and surveyed the battle unfolding around her. She caught sight of two people she recognized from school–the head boy and girl, as she knew they would be when term began. Nott was chasing down Lance, and Stella was hot on his tail.

"_Finite Incantatem!_" Stella called as she ran past Logan, freeing him from the curse that held him immobile. She continued running, and Daphne Apparated behind her.

"_Everte Statum!_"

Lance had a stunning spell prepared for Nott, but he saw another hooded figure Apparate behind Stella and whip a spell her way. He had a choice. Save himself? Or save Stella? He knew he couldn't do both.

With a grim smile, Lance redirected his aim to where the spell would pass by the Death Eater in front of him and instead hit Stella with a nonverbal protection spell that he had been practicing. A split second later, he felt a powerful blow to his leg and he fell. He wouldn't let the Death Eater have the best of him though, and he quickly attempted to cast a knockback jinx.

"_Flipendo!_" he yelled, moving his wand quickly as his attacker came down upon him.

Nott was blasted backward, but he managed to use the momentum of his fall to flip and right himself. He stretched out a hand and muttered "_Accio wand_" under his breath, and his wand flew into his grip.

"So selfless... nice quality, but wasted when protecting the weak." He cast a glance to Daphne and the girl and then returned his focus to the boy, certain Daphne would take care of her target. "_Tarantallegra_." Perhaps he could entertain his companions by making the boy dance...

Rodolphus saw Rookwood Apparate next to him, and he couldn't help but laugh. "Sorry, but I've got this. She's currently iced-over. All I need now is something to do with her. Any suggestions?"

The side of Augustus's lips tipped upward at the question, despite his disappointment that she was already incapacitated. "You ever hear of the Finger-Removing Jinx?"

As the second Death Eater joined the first to assault her, Cassie gave a small sigh._ Two against one. How wonderful._

A plan began to form in her mind. She focused on using her mind to break the ice starting from behind her, in order to avoid tipping them off to what she was doing. She continued to watch them, waiting for things to get worse, because they always did.

"Ah! Beautiful! I love it!" Rodolphus applauded at Rookwood's idea.

"Tell me," Cassie called to them calmly, trying for a distraction as she mentally worked on the ice. "How many people have you two killed?"

Rodolphus turned back to the block of ice, confused by her question. "Why do you ask?" As he asked this, he went ahead and used his wand to burn a hole through the ice, which allowed him to ensure he landed his "_Petrificus Totalus!_" He then proceeded to thaw her hands out to properly remove her fingers.

Her body was completely immobile, but fortunately, she still had her mind. She used it to slip inside that of the wizard who had just thawed her hands and assault it with images of pain and blood and fire, sending a bolt of telepathic energy at him for good measure and hoping against hope that it did something.

_Well, this is awkward_, thought Rodolphus. He suddenly saw... well, about what he saw every day. Interesting. Somehow, this girl was skilled with illusory magic–and _very_ skilled, at that. He could actually _feel_ the pain, see extreme detail in the blood of those around him, and feel the fire burning as it surrounded him. He was impressed, but not convinced. Then he felt a random bolt hit him, causing him to stagger, but he shook his head and continued.

Then he realized–she didn't have a wand. She wasn't using any spells. What in the world–

He stepped back from her. "What... ARE you?"

She still couldn't move, but she telepathically projected herself into his mind, where she spoke to him. "Well, I was a witch. Then I died. I'm now a vampire, but to be honest, I don't know where the hell this came from." She gestured to everything around her, which changed from flames and destruction to empty blackness.

Rookwood stood for a moment, confused at the odd exchange going on between the woman and Rodolphus. Finally, he grew impatient and pointed his wand at the woman.

"_Confringo!_"

He watched as she flew back several feet, right into some broken glass. Freed from the ice and spells as she was blasted out of range, Cassandra rolled through the glass, growling as she stood with several nicks and scratches.

"Well, that wasn't nice. We were having a convers–"

She broke off as a smell assaulted her nose, sending a shiver running through her. It was hot and metallic, and to her, nothing was more appetizing. She drew in a long breath, and she realized the smell was coming from the Death Eater who had just blasted her back. She rushed forward until she was right beside him.

"You smell... delicious."

In one motion, she bared her teeth and sunk them into Rookwood's throat.

_What. The. Hell._

Searing pain spread through his neck as it was pierced by two sharp teeth. Trying his hardest to shove the woman off, Augustus only succeeded in forcing her teeth deeper into his neck. Fighting off dizziness from the blood-loss, he tried to pull up his wand, aiming for her head.

_And I thought I'd seen it all_, thought Rodolphus.

He panicked and quickly chose a spell at random to get her away. _Confringo? No, I don't want to blow Rookwood up, too... Ah!_ He raised his wand right at the vampire. "_Ventus Duo!_"

As blood poured over her tongue, Cassie felt her strength increase immensely. The man she was biting attempted to force her away, but he only succeeded in making the situation worse for himself.

The second one, though... she didn't see that coming. The blast of wind sent by the other Death Eater broke her concentration and sent her flying backward, though she did manage to take a bit of her victim with her as she tumbled over the cobblestones.

The edge of the blast hit Rookwood, re-opening the wound on his back a bit, but that was nothing compared to the pain of two knife-like teeth being ripped sideways from his throat. He couldn't breathe; every time he tried he just made a gurgling sound and drowned a little bit more. Pointing his wand at his neck, he used the only spell he could think of.

"_E…pis…key_."

The bleeding stopped, but the wound was far from healed, and blood had started to leak out of his back again. It was then he realized he had fallen to the ground, debris cutting at his legs and hands. He didn't have the strength to stand, let alone Apparate to safety. He was running out of options.

Logan pushed himself to his feet, thoroughly confused by what had just happened. He had been trapped, immobile, lying on the ground. Stella had run past. She said some jibberish to him and suddenly he had control of his body again. Some things clicked into place and he realized she was one of _them_ too, only she was on his side.

He stood and cracked his neck and began scoping the street. The one he thought had been the first man to arrive was engaged in a heated confrontation with a… _wizard _in red robes, and Stella seemed to be doing all right for the moment. Logan circled the Alley for a moment before he zeroed in on the guy from earlier. He flexed his claws and began to saunter over toward him. _Round two, bub._

_Oops... That could've gone better..._ Rodolphus watched the woman fly down the street, a chunk of Rookwood's flesh in her mouth. _All right, time to stop messing around with this vampire chick. I can tend to Rookwood later._ Rodolphus prepared his Killing Curse, and then he saw the knife man walk up, eyes locked on Rookwood. Rodolphus turned his wand to him, let loose a simple "_Flipendo,_" and then turned his wand back to the vampire.

Narcissa surveyed the scene unfolding around her, and her heart ached. So many of her friends were injured, and there was next to nothing she could do to save them. Lucius was engaged in a stand-off with Ted, and though her every instinct wanted to rush and intervene, she made herself remember that her husband knew what he was doing. He would be fine.

She hoped.

Her brother-in-law, on the other hand, appeared to be engaged in a losing fight. He and Augustus–_Merlin, Augustus,_ who was covered in far too much blood not to be in danger–were involved with the man she had petrified earlier and a woman whose mouth was covered in blood. _Vampire,_ Narcissa thought bitterly.

She ran to join them, her wand raised. "_Locomotor Mortis,_" she said, flicking her wand to the vampire to lock her legs and keep her immobile.

Logan raised an eyebrow, and the next second he was jolted about a yard backward and nearly fell on his ass. He compared it to small explosion going off in front of him, which was something he could more or less handle. He growled and extended all six claws before bum rushing the idiot as he turned his back to him.

Rodolphus heard a growl come from the man he had just cast away, and he sighed. _Not going down easy, I see._ Then he heard the footsteps coming in rapidly. _Crap._

He turned just in time to see the man nearly five yards away. Way too close for comfort. And what was with those daggers coming out of his hands? No time to analyze–Rodolphus spat off the first spell that came to mind in another bout of panic. "_Inflatus!_" After the spell fired, he thought to himself, _The inflatus jinx? That's all I can come up with?_

Taking advantage of the fact that Rodolphus and the other man were otherwise occupied and she had leg-locked the vampire, Narcissa shifted her attention to Augustus.

"Merlin, what have you gotten yourself into?" she asked him as she knelt at his side. She held her wand over the bleeding, gurgling wound at his throat and hoped for the best. "_Vulnera Sanentur. Vulnera Sanentur. Vulnera Sanentur._"

Relieved to be able to breathe clearly again, Augustus looked up at Narcissa with a smile on his face.

"Heya. Nice to see someone's paying attention."

He kept the smile on his face, though he wanted to scream. _Vulnera Sanentur_ was incredibly useful in a battle, but it was just a really good patch job, all the same. But he smiled on, even though he wanted to scream from the agony coursing through his body as he tried to stand back up.

After spending some time in this fight and getting knocked around by some spells, Wolverine had learned that most of them need some sort of phrase in order to cast them. He took this into consideration as the one he was chasing down cast another spell at him. As the hooded man pointed and finished his word, Logan pushed off the ground with his left foot and veered off to the right to dodge the glowing light as it zinged by at an incredible speed. If he had acted a moment later, he would probably have been a piece of beef jerky or something. He continued, zig-zagging back and forth as he approached, the only new obstacle between his target and himself now being a woman and the guy with the open neck wound.

"Let's dance!" Logan yelled, his voice owning a deadly edge.

"Of course I'm paying attention," Narcissa told Augustus with a wry smile. "I may not be a killer, but I am good for something in times like this. You've no idea how many times I've had to heal Lucius after these battles."

She looped her arm around Augustus and tried to help him to his feet. Meanwhile, her eyes searched the street, as she had temporarily lost sight of her husband. She was too busy scanning the area to notice the man hurtling toward them.

_Crap_, thought Rodolphus. This wasn't good. He was now nearly certain to get punched out by the man's ridiculous... claws. He did the next thing that he could think to do–the one thing he was best at: conjuring fire. He closed his eyes and waved his wand around blindly in his attacker's direction, sending out a hefty stream of pure fire as he hit his absolute panic switch.

The movement as Narcissa helped him up made Augustus dizzy, and he saw stars for a moment. When his vision cleared, he was met with a much worse sight: the knife man from earlier hurtling toward him and the others. Raising his wand, he tried his best to think of a way to halt him.

"_PROTEGO!_" he shouted.

Lance's insides clenched as he expected death. Instead came a curse of a different kind, one that made his legs dance like there was no tomorrow. If it hadn't been for welt that was beginning to form on his leg, he would've counted his lucky stars, but it hurt. Badly.

He gasped, accidentally revealing the pain he was in to his attacker. He quickly tried to regain his composure, but it was difficult and with every kick of his left leg, a new wave of pain washed over him, making it hard to think. He couldn't remember the spell to fix it. He couldn't remember the spell to get rid of the pain. He laid there in the street with his legs dancing wildly, hopeless for a moment until something came to him. It was a silly spell, he knew, something that Muggle magicians might find fascinating, but it was all he could think of.

"_Avis._"

A loud, gunshot-like sound exploded from the tip of his wand as birds of various types, though no larger than a pigeon, flew out and toward Lance's assailant.

Nott's concentration was destroyed as a flock of birds flew at his face, and he threw up his hands to block as many of them as he could. He stumbled backward and tripped over the uneven street, crashing to the ground.

Protected by Lance's spell, Stella managed to fire a curse of her own at her attacker, who fell with a thud to the ground, if only for a moment. Stella darted away and followed her friend's lead.

"_Avis!_" she sent a flock of birds hurtling toward the trio of Death Eaters Logan appeared to be running for, hoping to break the concentration of the one using Protego.

As flames poured out hot and intense from the man's magic stick, Logan ducked down a little and ran through them, blocking out the pain of his skin being burned and regenerated as he went on and closed the last yard between them. He moved like a man possessed and swung out with his left hand to swipe at the source of the fire and followed that up with fist full of claw to the gut. It probably wouldn't kill him, but Wolverine wasn't worried about that, yet.

As the adamantium passed cleanly through his target's abdomen, Wolverine felt a second bump from behind him. Looking past his head as the flames around his face dissipated, he saw the back of a hood. It wasn't the man he had stabbed earlier, but instead the one who came to his rescue.

_Damn it._

Augustus watched as his shield charm failed to hinder the knife-man and he came hurtling toward them. He closed his eyes, preparing for death, but it didn't come. Instead, he heard a strange sound from the small woman beside him.

"_NO!_"

Narcissa froze.

For a moment that went on forever, she wasn't sure what was happening. White-hot, blinding pain had filled her stomach, but she didn't remember being hit by a curse of any kind. She looked down to find that the knives–_claws_–of the man Rodolphus had been fighting had passed through her brother-in-law and through her.

She opened her mouth to speak, but it had filled with blood.

She fell, and as she did, her hood slipped away from her head, and the blinding light of the street attacked her full-force. She landed on the ground with blood beginning to pool around her, and she was only semi-aware of the fact that she had lost her grip on Augustus. She lay on the stones, her head swimming and her body in agony as her eyes searched for Lucius.

_Ow._

Rodolphus had felt pain of all kinds. Physical–sharp, blunt, external, internal–emotional, and mental, but this... This was almost like he just had a Cruciatus curse shoved through his stomach. He couldn't feel the wand in his hand nor feel it slip away from his fingers. He couldn't even think. His entire body went limp against the man's claws, and he fainted.

Augustus was far too weak to hold himself up, and he fell to the ground with them, his world fading to black as his head hit the hard ground.

The birds dispersed as Lance found himself able to walk on his feet again without too much discomfort, though the pain was still there. He walked toward Nott, who lay in an awkward position on the curb where he had fallen. Lance knew beyond a doubt that he couldn't kill him, not only because it was forbidden to use such a spell, but also because he knew he wouldn't be able to go through with it. Instead, he kicked away the man's wand from his hand and shoved his own wand toward the Death Eater's chest.

"Match," Lance said to him before casting a verbal _Stupefy_, and the red bolt of the spell struck its target right on the mark. Lance took a deep breath and looked around. He watched as a woman collapsed onto the ground and a pool of blood began to form around her. He watched, slightly sick to his stomach as he noticed all the blood, not only hers, that was splattered onto the street. He held his breath and searched for the Head Girl, hoping she hadn't met a similar fate.

The blaze of flames caught Lucius's eye, and he followed them while watching Ted in his periphery. He saw the knife-man running toward a group of his colleagues, one of which appeared in terrible shape with blood-soaked clothing, one trying to help him, and one who had set the fire.

Lucius was engaged by this action, and he continued to watch as the man slipped his claws through one of the hooded figures' stomachs and into another's. Just seeing this made his muscles involuntarily clench, and he watched as they fell. As one of them slipped to the ground, their hood was displaced.

He was running before he had willed his feet to move, shoving people out of his way and blasting anyone who didn't move with any spell that came to mind. Flashes of light shot from his wand in colors from red to green, and he couldn't have cared less in those moments if who he was attacking was friend or foe. All that mattered was that he reach her.

"_NARCISSA!_" he screamed over the curses and explosions and shouts. "_NO!_"

Lucius reached his wife at last and threw himself down to the street and her side, gathering her in his arms as blood poured from the wound in her stomach. He ripped off his hood and wept, pulling her close. He grabbed her hand tightly, casting a glance to the other victim, whom he now recognized as Rodolphus, and whom Lucius realized had lost consciousness.

With a wound like that, sleep could mean death. He was terrified for Rodolphus and wished he knew what to do to help him, but all he knew how to do was try to save his wife from doing the same.

"No... no, this isn't happening. Narcissa, stay with me." Tears streamed down his face. "Don't go to sleep."

Draco had heard about this little plot to attack the Alley through the walls. He had gotten particularly good at eavesdropping around his house, and the guests weren't particularly... well, quiet. So, he had decided he would just show up for a few seconds at a safe distance, just to scout, and get out of there.

He appeared a long distance off, certain that no one could see him, despite still wearing the Death Eater robes just in case. He made a quick scan over the area, and he was immediately confused. He had expected the rubble, fire, and destroyed buildings, but... there was a literal _battle_ going on down there. There was also a man that seemed to have three small knives protruding from in between his fingers on each hand. He rushed up on Draco's uncle Rodolphus and sent his knives through him. It seemed Draco was just in time to watch his own mother fall.

He saw his father start to rush toward her, naturally. At this point, Draco couldn't just stand by and watch. He had to go in and fight. This time it was personal. He would not fail this time.

Wolverine retracted his claws back into his skin as the man he had stabbed fell to the ground, unconscious. He turned his head and looked at the other one that had fallen to the ground moments before and realized a couple things.

_She didn't really hurt anyone, did she? I mean, I don't remember her–_

He heard a man yell her name as he rushed toward her, sending spells out at anyone that got in his way as he went. Not really sure what to do, Logan stood there for a moment and looked over what damage he had done. If he had to make guess, he'd imagine he could score one for himself in this battle, though it didn't make him feel any better. He was used to having to kill people, but still...

He watched the man as he spoke to her softly. For a moment, Wolverine felt the need do something, but he wasn't sure what. He wasn't used to seeing emotions mingle with the blood that had been spilled on the battlefield. Then suddenly, he heard a whoosh and heard someone shout from behind him.

"_AVADA KADAVRA!_" the kid yelled with his voice filled with anger.

Draco watched the green bolt erupt from his wand, eager to watch his handiwork. It landed, and he saw the man react in an... unusual way.

Logan had heard the spell before, and he knew what it was supposed to do. But he didn't die. He felt tingly, like his body was trying to hold itself together and rip itself apart at the same time. He turned to the boy, his vision beginning to darken at the edges, and cocked back an arm to punch him.

As the man reared his hand at him, Draco stepped back, completely terrified at the thing that managed to survive the Killing Curse. He had, once again, failed. He closed his eyes, and then he heard a loud thud as the man hit the pavement.

He dared a glance down and saw his target was lying at his feet, motionless. Draco sighed with relief, knowing that his spell had been effective. He hadn't failed. He then ran up to his mother and father, worried.

"Will she be all right, Father?"

Lucius shook his head rather jerkily, uncertain of how to answer his son. If his willing it could have made it so, then yes, she would be fine. But truthfully, he had no idea.

"I don't know, Draco," he said softly. "You need to get out of here. Get home."

He looked down to Narcissa, whose eyelids were fluttering as she clung to consciousness. Her lips moved as though she was trying to speak, but no words came.

"This is over," Lucius told his son. He raised his voice to a shout, addressing all of the Death Eaters in the street. "_FALL BACK! GET OUT, NOW!_"

He took Narcissa more securely into his arms and lifted her from the ground. With a somber nod to Draco, he Disapparated in a swirl of black smoke.

Draco went to protest against his father, but when Lucius made the call to the rest of the Death Eaters, he had no choice but to obey. Draco quickly surveyed the area, searching for anyone that may need help returning. His eyes first locked onto his uncle, Rodolphus, lying on the ground next to him. Draco couldn't tell whether or not he was still alive, after that wound. He was cut straight through in three perfectly-aligned wounds. Draco shook his head and took his uncle for dead. He closed his eyes, seeing enough of this alley, and Disapparated home.

Jolie had chased down the Ravenclaw boy–Lance–and raised her wand to strike when Lucius gave the order to retreat. She sighed in frustration and slashed her wand at the boy for one last attack. "_Diffindo!_" With that, she Disapparated.

Daphne saw that Nott had been stunned, and as she ran past him after Stella, she called "_Rennervate!_" to release him. He called a thank you to her as he sat up. She then took aim at the ground over which Stella stood. "_Confringo!_"

As the ground beneath her exploded, Stella flew through the air. She landed agonizingly on her left arm, and beneath her she felt the bones snap. She lay in the street, watching the clouds drift over her, silently praying that no one else would die. When she heard the shout summoning the Eaters away, she breathed a long sigh of relief. It would be over soon.

With a turn of her stomach, Daphne saw where Rookwood had fallen. She gave a long sigh, resigning herself to the fact that if she was going to be a Death Eater, the two of them would never escape one another, and she might as well get used to it. She rushed to his side and helped him to stand.

"Hold onto your hat," she said with a brittle smile. She then Disapparated both of them from the Alley.

_That girl will rival the best of us, one day,_ thought Ryan. He pushed himself painfully to his feet, his earlier headache and disorientation returning as he crashed from the adrenaline rush that had spurred him through the battle. His allies disappeared from all around him, and his eyes fell on Rodolphus, lying in the street in a pool of blood. Nott Apparated to his side and crouched over him, shaking his head.

"Tsk, tsk, Roddy. I don't know what you got yourself into, but it doesn't look promising. I won't leave you here, though. C'mon, mate." He slipped his shoulder under Rodolphus's arm and hoisted him up, Disapparating to Malfoy Manor.

Lance had fallen to the ground after feeling the chest portion of his shirt over his left pec tear open and continue onto his skin, cutting deeply, but thankfully not into anything vital. He dropped to one knee, wincing at the pain as his attacker Apparated out of sight.

He heard an explosion and watched Stella fly up into the air as many of the other Death Eaters made their escape. Blood still lined the streets and very few people still remained. Including himself, there were two Aurors, Stella, and a man that was lying the middle of the street. Those were all that he could see. Lance would check on him soon, but now he could hardly move and had to focus on himself for a moment. For now, the wound could be ignored, but he would have to have it checked out.

_Welp, looks like I can't just go back to St. Mungo's and pretend it never happened. Maybe I should have sat this one out... _

One blow. That was all Nymphadora Tonks had managed, before a rogue blast hit a building near her, sending shrapnel into her leg, preventing her from doing much. She had sent a Stunning Spell at one of the smaller Death Eaters, but the attack hadn't even landed. Sighing, and getting ready to have very angry healers yelling at her, Tonks Apparated back to the hospital.

Stella forced herself to her feet, stumbling unsteadily through the Alley. She knew Lance was here somewhere, and she knew he was probably in just as bad a shape as she was, if not worse.

"Lance!" she called. "Where are you?"

At last she spotted him, and she began to walk in his direction as quickly as she could force herself to move, hugging her arm close to her. Her eyes fell on something in the path between them, and she froze.

It was Logan.

"Lance?" she called uncertainly.

With a second look at the people left on the street, she decided that all of them needed hospitalized.

Though Lance couldn't tell from as far away as he was, he had to assume the worst and that Stella had broken her arm. He stood, and the pain in his leg returned briefly, but not enough to keep him from walking. He held his hand to his chest in an attempt to keep as much blood as possible as he made his way to her.

Soon enough, they met in the middle and both looked down at the unconscious man. He almost looked as though he'd been stunned, and Lance bent down to check on him. The moment he reached out to him, Lance realized how stupid that was.

_He's been hit by the Killing Curse._

Lance shook his head but continued the motion anyway, and he found himself dumbfounded. The man was still alive.

Lance looked up at Stella, an astonished look in his eyes.

"Stell, he's..." His voice failed him, his mind unable to fathom what had transpired.

"...alive," she finished in a whisper. Stella blinked, looked to Logan, looked to Lance, and then ran a hand through her hair. "How in the world is that possible?" she asked, her eyes wide.

"I dunno…" he said to her, his voice soft. "I've only heard of someone surviving that one other time. The Boy Who lived..." Lance tried to flip the man over to carry him, but soon found that he was heavier than he should be. Giving up, he turned his attention back to Stella. "We should get ourselves to St. Mungo's. I'd imagine they'd be real interested in this guy, too." Taking a second look at Stella's reaction, Lance noticed something a little different about her. Like, she might have... "Hey, Stell. You know this guy?" he asked curiously.

Stella nodded slowly, part of her wishing she hadn't given herself away so soon. Lance would have questions, and she wouldn't know how to answer many of them. She sighed.

"Yeah, his name's Logan. We met in the Leaky earlier. He hadn't heard of Butterbeer or... or Hogwarts." She went pale. "Damn it. I should have seen something like this coming. I feel so _stupid._ I knew he couldn't be a wizard, but I had no idea what he actually was."

"Hey, no use in beating yourself up about it." Lance looked down at the unconscious man and sighed heavily, his wounds reminding him that they needed to get moving. "Let's just... get to St. Mungo's. We'll sort things out when we're patched up, okay?" He gave Stella his signature warm grin.

She attempted to return his smile, though she was far more stressed than happy or anything else. "Yeah, sounds like a plan."

Lance grabbed onto Logan's arm and lifted it enough to Apparate him along with Stella, when she was ready. He looked to her and motioned for her to do the same. Once she had done so, he pictured the St. Mungo's waiting room, where he had been a few times to visit people in the hospital. He was confident that he could take them there and not end up killing them in the process. He turned back to Stella and asked, "Ready?"

She nodded stiffly, giving the ruined, bloody, and destroyed Alley one last glance. "Let's get out of here."

They Disapparated.


	10. Tears Don't Fall

**AN: Chapter title is from the song by Bullet For My Valentine. Unlike the last chapter, this one sticks with one point-of-view. Violence and emotions ahead. (And maybe an awkward situation.) **

**xNarcissa**

* * *

**Chapter Ten**

**Tears Don't Fall**

Lucius Apparated to the extremity of the Manor's gates, clutching Narcissa's limp form to his chest. A glance downward told him that she was still bleeding profusely, and he silently cursed himself for being stupid enough to put her in the kind of danger from which they had just barely escaped with their lives. He had moved against every bit of better judgment he possessed in order to bring her with him, and where had it gotten them, now?

"Stay awake, my sweet," he pleaded. He set off at a run up the path to the Manor, mentally damning the anti-Apparition charms in place within its walls to the deepest depths of hell. In his arms, his wife was so pale it was terrifying, and her breaths came in short, labored bursts that were spread so far apart they left Lucius in constant fear that the next one would not come.

The doors were closed, and he knew he couldn't open them while holding Narcissa. His wand, however, was within reach. He grabbed it unsteadily and shouted "_CONFRINGO!_" and effectively blasted the doors into relative oblivion. They could be repaired. They didn't matter to him.

Lucius rushed over the threshold, and he was greeted by a group of strange people he had no time for standing in his foyer with the Dark Lord. Monika was nowhere in sight, and Lucius hadn't the patience to deal with these oddly-dressed men and women when there was a much more pressing matter to attend. He ignored them and rushed up the stairs and through the winding corridors to find that the entrance to the master bedroom had mercifully been left open a crack.

He burst through the door and sprinted toward the bed. The Dark Lord spoke into his mind, but Lucius couldn't care less at the moment what he said–something about their alibi, possibly, but it was irrelevant.

Lucius laid Narcissa down gently, careful not to worsen the bloody wound in her stomach. _Three wounds_, he amended bitterly. _Perfectly-symmetrical, perfectly-spaced._

He had never been more frightened in his life.

He rested his hand on her cheek, finding her skin very cold to the touch. He knew that wasn't a good sign. He knelt on the floor beside where she lay.

"Cissy, can you hear me?"

She attempted to nod, but her head only managed to move about a centimeter.

"Lucius…"

Tears stung his eyes when she spoke his name. He had been so afraid he would never hear her voice again, and just one word was an immeasurable relief.

"I'm here, love. Stay with me."

Lucius tore his eyes from her face to find that the bleeding had not slowed. Blood soaked the sheets, and her robes were saturated. He realized then that his were covered in the coarse red liquid as well.

He also realized that he had absolutely no idea what to do. So many times, he had come home from battle with injuries, bleeding and broken. Narcissa had always known just what to do to help him, and Lucius felt like just the failure the Dark Lord always referred to him as when he came to understand that he did not know how to help his wife.

"Stay with me," he repeated as sweat began to bead along his forehead. "You're going to be all right."

"Okay," she breathed. Within an instant, however, her eyelids fluttered and then closed, and she slipped into unconsciousness.

Lucius's heart began to pound. This was precisely what he had feared, and now it had come to pass. He racked his brain for healing spells he recalled, and the first thing that came to mind was–

"_Episkey!_"

The edges of the wound farthest to his left twitched, and the center one closed a fraction of an inch.

Lucius cried out in frustration, not caring who heard him. "_Think!_" He shouted at himself. "There must be _something!_"

He dropped his head into his hands and searched his brain for something–_anything_–that might be remotely useful. Suddenly, a memory hit him, and he was blindsided both by his own stupidity in forgetting it and his ability to recall it so suddenly. He had been in a particularly nasty fight several months back, and he couldn't go to St. Mungo's, because Merlin knew what they would do to him after him was healed. Cissy had healed his injuries with a spell repeated three times. He hoped he managed to speak it correctly and didn't make things worse.

Lucius held his wand as steadily as possible over the injury while his hands trembled. "_Vulnera Sanentur_..." It was difficult to tell, but it appeared that the blood flow stemmed a bit. "_Vulnera Sanentur_..." Before his eyes, the wounds sealed. He let out a long breath of relief, and then he recalled that the incantation was supposed to be spoken three times. "_Vulnera Sanentur_." Where the injury had been, only faint outlines of pierce-marks remained.

"Thank Merlin," Lucius muttered. He sat down beside Narcissa, once again dropping his face into his hands. The worst was over, or so he hoped.

Several minutes passed in this way before Draco rushed into the room. He seemed to remember something, rushed out again, and then knocked before coming back inside. Lucius sighed, slightly confused but too exhausted to question him.

"Is she doing all right?" Draco asked. "Do you need anything?"

"She's not bleeding anymore," Lucius offered with an attempt at optimism that fell rather flat. "The sheets will need to be changed," he added with a glance at all the blood, "but I don't feel that we should move her, yet. Apart from that... I'm not sure what else we can do. Thank you, Draco." Lucius tried to smile at his son. "What about you? Are you hurt?" In all the confusion and terror, he realized now that he had not yet discerned whether Draco had been injured in the battle. He felt like a terrible father.

"I don't think I was there long enough to get hurt, actually." Draco took a glance over at his mother, then recalled aloud, "Oh, I have some dittany in my pocket. This should heal up the wound the rest of the way. Severus actually recommended it after I... well... you know... Anyway, it was highly effective."

He pulled out a stem with at least seven leaves on it and handed it to his father. "Here, take a leaf, grind it up, and spread a little of it over the wound. Leave enough of it for her to take orally."

Lucius nodded. "Thank you, Son. I will."

He produced a mortar and pestle from within the drawer in the bedside table and went to work preparing the dittany while Draco stood sentinel nearby. When the leaves had been ground, Lucius dipped out a small amount onto his finger and began applying it to Narcissa's wounds.

"One little task, Lucius. That was all. Yet you nearly got everyone killed. I simply cannot express my disappointment."

Lucius looked up from applying the dittany, his face white with shock and fear at the sight of the Dark Lord standing in the doorway to his bedroom. He instinctively took a step closer to the unconscious Narcissa and averted his eyes from the Dark Lord's face.

"M-My Lord, it wasn't like that. Everything was working flawlessly. We managed to kill several and wound countless more, and we took out quite a chunk of Diagon Alley, as well. We were holding our own. Daphne made her first kill. But then... there was this man, but he wasn't an ordinary man. Not a wizard, nor anything else like it. He had blades sticking out of his hands. He was unstoppable. Draco used the Killing Curse on him," Lucius added, looking to his son with pride, "but he wouldn't die. I don't understand it. And he... he stabbed Narcissa. And Rodolphus," he added.

"So I heard." The Dark Lord cast a withering glance on Draco before returning his focus to the elder Malfoy. "I wonder, Lucius...what must it be like to be such a failure? Your wife obviously cannot fight or defend herself, your son cannot perform a Killing Curse, and you cannot help them. What does it feel like to be such a waste of space?"

Rage bubbled up inside Lucius, and though he fought to keep it contained, he knew he had not succeeded in filtering the venom from his words.

"My son performed a Killing Curse–it is not his fault that the wretch did not die. I watched him perform it, and it was done admirably. My wife defended herself well. She fought down Aurors and managed to stun the man responsible for doing this–" He gestured wildly at where she lay on the bloody sheets. "–to her before she put herself in danger to save one of our men–" He refused to admit even to himself that it had been Rookwood. "–which put her in the path the clawed man was taking toward Rodolphus, who provoked him. How is it, My Lord, that I cannot help them? I saved Narcissa's life by getting her away from there before she could bleed to death. How, _My Lord,_ does that make me a failure?"

Lucius's breathing was heavy, and only in the silence after his words did he realize he had been almost shouting. He didn't bother apologizing for the outburst because the damage was done. The Dark Lord would do with him what he wished, regardless of anything Lucius said or did.

Draco, who had stepped backward at the Dark Lord's words, looked on. His wand was at the ready, and he appeared prepared to come to his father's aid. The Dark Lord's back was to Draco. He stared at Lucius, and his eye twitched in anger.

"Draco, go downstairs and assist Jolie with our guests," he said.

Lucius knew what that surely meant. He gave no indication that he was aware of impending disaster; if he tipped off his son that something was amiss, Draco would surely wish to stay. No... it was in Draco's best interest that he be gone when the Dark Lord decided to punish Lucius for his actions and 'failures.'

"Yes, Son, you know the Manor better than Jolie does. You will be better able to show them to rooms and make sure they are taken care of." Lucius attempted to smile at him, but the action felt brittle and forced. He could only hope his son obeyed.

Draco held his father's gaze for a long moment, and then he sighed in defeat, drooping his head. "Very well. I will leave you." It was obvious how reluctant he was to go; he clearly wished to stay and assist Lucius in what was certain to be a disaster. He did, however, leave.

The Dark Lord stared Lucius down as Draco left the room. Once he had gone, the Dark Lord put out a spark that had been left in the carpet near the hem of his robes, presumably an attempt by Draco to gain some sort of retribution. Lucius blanched, terrified that Draco would enrage the Dark Lord further by attempting to defend him. The last thing he wanted was for the Dark Lord's ire to be brought upon his son.

"Lucius... hold out your arm."

Lucius inhaled deeply and took a step toward his master, drawing up the sleeve of his robes as he dutifully–though reluctantly–offered his right arm.

"Yes, My Lord."

He forced himself not to falter, not to give the slightest tremble. Lucius had no idea what the Dark Lord was planning, but he knew it wouldn't be pretty. He cast a glance at his wife in the corner of his eye, hoping that if he focused on the fact that she had survived, perhaps his own sentence would be the slightest bit more bearable.

The Dark Lord raised his wand. Taking Lucius's arm, he drew the tip of the wand over his middle, ring, and pinkie fingers in a motion that could almost be a caress. Yet that couldn't be farther from the truth. As the Dark Lord's wand fell from Lucius's last finger, there was a small red light, followed by red blood. Lucius opened his mouth to scream, but the sound died in his throat before it reached his lips–he realized the Dark Lord had cast a non-verbal _Silencio_ on him to prevent it. He watched as three fingers fell from his right hand and to his bedroom floor.

"Consider yourself lucky, Lucius. If you ever disrespect me again, I will kill you and your entire family." The Dark Lord turned away, beginning to walk out the door. At the last moment, he stopped. "I expect you and Narcissa to be down for supper. Really, you're being horrible hosts."

With that, he left the room.

Lucius had forced himself to remain standing throughout the ordeal. He would have agreed to be downstairs in time for supper, but his voice was unreachable, locked away in some distant part of him. Tears welled in his eyes from the blinding pain, but he refused to let them fall. He held the Dark Lord's gaze until he had gone, and then he dropped to his knees on the floor, cradling his ruined hand and cursing silently the man whom he had once followed with such blind loyalty. Now, he was trapped within a web of his own weaving with no way out.

Lucius forced himself to his feet, not looking at his fingers where they lay on the carpet, and trudged to Narcissa's side of the bed, as he had laid her down on his when entering the room. He lay down beside his wife and stared at the ceiling. He liked to think the pain was all he could feel, but it was matched by a crushing hollowness that threatened the last bit of hope he still had.

After what felt like hours, there was movement from his left. He sighed in relief when he realized that Narcissa had awoken. At least one of his fears had been laid to rest. She glanced from her healed injuries and bloodied robes to the dittany on the bedside table, and then her eyes found him. She slid closer and rested her head on his chest, moving carefully, he assumed, to avoid reopening either of their injuries. Lucius reached out to stroke her hair, but he immediately pulled his hand back down to rest beside him. It was better not to let her see what had become of him. Not yet, anyway. He knew he couldn't keep it hidden forever.

"I'm so sorry," Narcissa said softly. "I never meant to be a burden. I shouldn't have gone with you. I should have just waited here. I can't imagine the trouble I must have caused."

Lucius wanted to speak to her, to tell her not to be foolish–that none of this was her fault. Unfortunately, he could not speak. Instead, he leaned down and kissed the top of her head, hoping to convey some of this silently. He pulled her close with his left arm while keeping the right tucked out of sight.

Narcissa lifted her head, frowning at his silence. She looked over his blood-spattered robes, and with a twist in his stomach, he realized that some of the blood was noticeably fresh. It wouldn't be possible to pass that off as from the battle. Of course, Narcissa's mind had already beaten him to that conclusion.

"What happened? What's wrong?"

She reached for the hand that was not wrapped around her, and Lucius winced as she took it into hers. Her eyes widening in terror, she pulled his hand toward her–gently, careful not to worsen the already terribly gruesome, bloody wound–and the color drained from her face. Her free hand flew to her mouth, and she looked like she might scream at the sight.

She sat up quickly enough that she must have given herself vertigo, taking his injured hand in both of hers. "Lucius, what in Merlin's name happened?"

Taking a deep breath, he pushed himself up into a sitting position. He shook his head slowly and tapped his throat, willing her to understand that he could not speak. This gave him time, he reasoned, to think of a cover story. If she knew that the Dark Lord were responsible, Merlin knew what she would do. If Lucius had learned anything in the last day, it was that standing up to the Dark Lord was the worst thing anyone could do, especially those in the Malfoy family.

Narcissa pulled away to lunge for the bedside table, where Lucius had deposited her wand on their entry. She quickly retrieved it and then returned to his side, taking his hand again before aiming at him.

"_Finite Incantatem._"

Upon realizing he had regained the ability to speak, Lucius was both relieved and more anxious. He would now have to attempt to explain in a way that his wife would believe that would also keep her safe from the Dark Lord.

"I was injured in the battle, love. It's nothing to fret over."

He knew this attempt was probably useless, but if he could make her believe it, it was the best option available to him.

She stared at him incredulously. "Then why does it look fresh?" She dropped his hand gingerly and rested hers on the side of his face, forgetting for a moment that her own hand was covered in his blood. He felt the warmth of the red liquid on his skin as well as the cold touch of Narcissa's fingers. "Tell me the truth," she said.

He laid his undamaged hand over hers and sighed. "I am telling you the truth, Narcissa. It had started to heal, but I tore open the wounds again when I was grinding the dittany to heal yours. And before you say anything, I didn't mind."

He released her hand and slid off the bed. Pretending he didn't feel her eyes on him, he stripped off his bloody and torn robes, searching out and slipping on a pair of dress pants to help him keep up the appearance of attending a normal supper. Naturally, the blood from his hand immediately stained the pants when he pulled them up, but he ignored this, using the uninjured hand to zip them.

The sound of the door opening startled Lucius, and he used it as the perfect cover to knock the bowl of dittany to the floor, making sure that it was left with a smear of blood along its rim. He should have planned his alibi more thoroughly, but the unannounced entrance of Monika gave him an opportunity for which he was grateful. Of course, showing that would only be suspicious, and her random entrance was also a source of irritation.

Monika looked from Lucius to Narcissa, the former who stood shirtless with his hands on his pants while the latter sat, looking rather disheveled, on a bed covered in blood. Meekly, the servant girl looked down, blushing.

"I... I... Se Dark Lord sent me after you. S-supper. F-f-food?"

"Have we forgotten how to knock?" Lucius asked her. He took a step forward to pick up the bowl of dittany, surreptitiously snatching his severed fingers from the floor and slipping them with disgust into his pocket, hoping that neither Monika nor Narcissa had seen them.

Tears shone in Monika's eyes. "I-I am sorry! _Die_ Snake-Ma–I mean, _Die_ Dark Lord told mich to!"

With a sigh, Narcissa pushed herself to the edge of the bed and let her legs dangle over the sides while she ran a hand through her hair. She was blushing. "No need to be rude, love," she told Lucius. "Monika, we understand the Dark Lord is, ah, impossible to say no to. No apologies are necessary."

Still keeping her head down, Monika nodded. "_Danke_, Frau Malfoy. Ich vill get se rest von se food on se table."

When she had gone and closed the door behind her, Lucius sighed. "I wasn't trying to be _rude_," he told Narcissa, somewhat wounded by the accusation. "I don't suppose it bothers you that she walked into our bedroom unannounced." He retraced his steps to the bedside table and replaced the bowl on its surface before turning to his wife and kissing her on the forehead. "Merlin knows what we could have been doing."

Narcissa smiled. "When you put it that way..." Her eyes roved his face and then downward, landing on his still-bleeding, ruined hand. She flinched. "Give that here. Let me do something for it."

He started to protest her worrying, but he knew it was useless. Besides, she did not allow him the time. Before he had a chance to protest, she grabbed the hand with one of hers and raised her wand with the other. "_Tergeo._" The blood on his hand was washed away, leaving a terrible but clean wound.

When the blood had been cleaned, Lucius gently pulled his hand away and slipped out of arm's reach. "That's all we have time for, love. We're needed downstairs." He turned away, unwilling to let her see how much pain he was in or how much he dreaded returning to the Dark Lord's presence. He slipped on a heavily-starched, button-down shirt, which he found himself unable to fasten. He busied himself absentmindedly straightening things around the room to distract himself from the reality that he had been handicapped.

Narcissa slipped off the bed and to her feet. She made her way to the bathroom, where she stayed for several minutes. Lucius kept himself occupied with busywork until she returned, wearing a green silk dress and no sign of blood. She instantly noticed his unbuttoned shirt and moved to his side.

"Hold still," she said with a small laugh. She fastened each of the buttons herself; Lucius's pride didn't want to let him accept help with something so menial as getting dressed, but in the end, he did not protest. He watched her work, thinking for a moment about how beautiful she looked, and then she took his uninjured arm. "Shall we?"

Smiling tightly, he nodded. "Let's get this nightmare over with." They left the room, and Lucius closed the door behind them as they made their way downstairs.


	11. Hyperventilation Dance

**AN: Sorry for the delay. It seems we're about due for an Augustus chapter. Here's the second attempt at a Death Eater dinner party of sorts, only now with the added fun of mutants! Chapter eleven, in which Emma and Selene act like sluts (go figure), Pietro and Draco debate whether a tomato is a fruit or a vegetable, and Lucius needs a hand. Oh, and some incredibly painful memories are brought up. The title is from the Hatsune Miku song.  
**

**xNarcissa**

* * *

**Chapter Eleven**

**Hyperventilation Dance**

Pain. Everywhere. _Everywhere._

_I'm dead._ After what happened, Rookwood had to be dead. He didn't want to open his eyes and see where he'd wound up. But he knew, sooner or later, he would have to open them. Might as well be sooner.

_Oooookaaaayy, either death looks like Malfoy Manor, or I'm still amongst the living. _ He still hurt like hell, though. He was in his room. Lauren, his step-daughter, was looking at him from the wall she leaned against, and it was easy to tell she was pissed. _Shit. _

"Uuuummmmm, hiya."

She raised an eyebrow at his greeting, and for a moment, it looked as though she might smile. Instead, she looked at him seriously.

"Hi there. Is there anything you'd like to talk about?" she asked, folding her arms across her chest. "Like... I don't know, the bloody neck? The stab wounds in your back?"

He sighed heavily. "It's only to be expected, Lauren. These things happen in my... line of work. And look, I'm all shiny and new again!" Augustus gestured to himself before realizing that was a bad example. Bloody clothes and scarred over wounds didn't exactly say shiny and new, but he carried on regardless. "I'm perfectly fine."

"You're 'all shiny and new' because I was told at the Ministry that there was a Death Eater attack in Diagon Alley and knew to come here to find you. I heard it from _work_, Father. That's not a fun feeling." Lauren sighed. "But what happened to you? I've never seen wounds like those, either of them. You can't tell me Aurors were responsible. It had to be something else."

Augustus ran his hand through his hair, trying to think of a way to explain without upsetting her further. The vampire would be relatively easy to explain compared to the knife-man... crap, vampire bite. _I hope I didn't get any venom in that..._

"Well, the neck would is from a vampire's fangs getting ripped from my throat, and the rest is from getting stabbed by a psycho with knives in his hands."

_Well...that didn't come out the way I'd hoped._

She stared at him. Several seconds passed before she managed to speak.

"_What?!_ How in the world... knives... in his hands?" Lauren blinked. "You do realize how mental that sounds, right? I'm not saying I don't believe you, but... how does that work, exactly?"

He laughed shortly at her reaction. "Beats me. Can't exactly say I expected that one. Now will you calm down?"

Lauren cried out in frustration. "You come back with your throat almost ripped out and your back stabbed by some random claw-man, half-dead, and you expect me to calm down?! That's completely unreasonable!"

There was a knock from without. Lauren ran a hand through her hair and stepped out of the way. Augustus was a bit surprised when Lauren gestured him toward the door, having assumed he wouldn't be allowed to do anything. However, he stood and walked to the door. Opening it, he saw the little Muggle girl.

"Er, hello. What do you need?"

Keeping her head down, the servant answered. "Ich came zu tell you supper ist ready." Inclining her head toward him, she swiftly walked away down the hall.

Lauren glanced from the girl to Augustus. "Should I be going, then?" Her tone was half-challenging, half-disappointed.

Augustus opened his mouth to tell her that yes, she should go, but he closed it immediately. Everyone was too tired and injured to do much. It couldn't hurt for her to stay a bit, right?

"Nah," he said at last. "You may as well stay for supper. One more mouth won't hurt."

Lauren smiled. "That would be lovely, thank you."

_I wonder if I'll even be able to eat solid food, considering I just got stabbed in the stomach_, thought Augustus. _Oh well, time to find out._

"Well then, let's go!"

She quickly nodded and folded her hands, appearing uncharacteristically nervous. Augustus walked out the door and started toward the dining room, Lauren in tow. When they arrived, he realized that they were the first to do so. Not particularly wanting to sit down at the Malfoys' table until doing so was completely necessary, he led his daughter to the room's back corner, which was considerably dimmer than the center of the room where the table sat. Perhaps they could blend in here until someone sane arrived.

"Is, ah, _everyone_ coming?" Lauren asked after a moment.

"Unfortunately," sighed Augustus. "As far as I know, at least. Maybe we'll get lucky and several of them will have had enough of lovely team get-togethers after last night."

"Why? What happened last night?"

"_Nothing_, Lauren."

It was then that a pair of shapes entered at the opposite side of the dining room, hand-in-hand. One of them was rather small, and the other fairly tall, though, as Augustus knew upon recognizing them, shorter than him.

_Oh, joy._

As Narcissa and Lucius entered, Augustus moved unconsciously closer to the wall behind him, taking cover in the shadows. If Lauren noticed, she didn't comment.

"There's something I should tell you," Lucius said quietly to Narcissa, his voice only audible due to the absolute stillness of the rest of the room. It was clear that neither Malfoy noticed Augustus and Lauren. "While we were away, more, ah, guests arrived. Some of them are... a bit odd."

Narcissa paled. "What do you mean by 'odd,' dear?"

Lucius shrugged lightly. "I'm sure they're nothing to worry about. I only saw them in passing, but aside from quite terrible senses of fashion, they didn't appear any worse than our normal clientele." He paused for a moment and then sighed, seemingly recalling what, exactly, their 'normal clientele' included. "We won't let things get out of hand," he assured her.

Augustus fought down a laugh. _Remind me how you plan on making sure of that, Rapunzel. _

A man in a suit entered with his head high, a woman in black lingerie on one arm and a woman in white on the other. Augustus had to cover his mouth to avoid snorting at the ridiculousness of the situation. The man slid his arms free and offered a hand to Lucius and then to Narcissa as he spoke.

"Good evening. My name is Nathaniel Essex. Are you our... hosts?"

Lucius quirked an eyebrow and shook the man's hand with his left. After Narcissa had repeated the gesture with Essex, she retracted her hand, ignoring the women.

"Good evening, Mr. Essex. Lucius Malfoy. This is my wife, Narcissa, and yes, this is our home." His eyes drifted to the women beside Essex, and Lucius's lip curled distastefully at the sight of their attire. "And you ladies are...?"

The blond woman in white took Lucius's hand next and shook it, a sultry smirk on her lips. "Emma Frost… at your service."

Using her hip to butt Emma out of the way, the woman in black lingerie with hair to match introduced herself. "I'm Selene. Such a pleasure to meet you." She glanced downward before looking back up at Lucius coyly. "You seem to have something on your pants." Grabbing a napkin off the table, she took the liberty of wiping it before finding a seat and taking it.

Narcissa glared daggers at Selene for a long moment before sliding closer to Lucius until their sides were touching. The tension in the air was electric.

"I hope you find _our_ home to your liking," she said sweetly.

Lucius tightened the arm he held around her. "Come on, love."

He guided Narcissa to the table, where they sat in the same places they had occupied the night before, with him seated beside where the Dark Lord would be shortly. His eyes floated over those assembled and landed on Selene.

"While I appreciate the gesture, Selene, only one person is allowed to touch my pants."

Augustus sighed. _Always so tactful._

Nott wandered in just in time to hear Lucius's words, and he laughed. "What in the world did I just walk into?" A bottle of Firewhisky in his hand, Ryan sauntered toward the table, managing to trip near the fireplace. The bottle tipped before he caught himself–or, rather, fell into Emma. He managed to spill a large quantity of Firewhiskey on her before he righted himself. "My apologies." He glanced again at her attire. "Blimey, if I'd known this was the kind of party we were having, I would have dressed differently. Lucius, what kind of supper is this, anyway?"

"It's a normal dinner, Nott," said Lucius with a sigh. "I can't speak to the dress code."

Emma stumbled backward and let out an indignant huff. "Do you have any idea who I am?"

Ryan laughed. "No idea, love."

Emma strode away to the seat beside Selene and sat down. She pointed to a dish on the table, and it went flying toward Ryan as she took the napkin from her place and began to dab at the stains.

"I'm telling you, tomatoes ARE vegetables! Why else would they put them in salads?"

The mutant Augustus knew as Quicksilver entered mid-argument with Draco, and as he noted the flying plate, he quickly snatched it out of the air and set it back on the table. He then looked over to Emma and noticed the spills on her attire.

"It's not polite to throw things at someone just because they happened to accidentally spill something on you."

Ryan had raised his wand, prepared to destroy the plate before it impacted him, but lowered it when he was spared the trouble. His eyes widened, and he spoke to Quicksilver.

"Thanks, mate."

Nott then found a seat far from Emma and took it.

Sometime during the ludicrous situation, an older man with white hair had settled at one extremity of the table. He sat quietly, gesturing with his hand at the silverware, which floated through the air at what appeared to be his command. Augustus raised an eyebrow.

_What the hell _are_ these people?_

Emma glared pointedly at Quicksilver. "It also isn't polite to interfere when someone's making a point." She then glanced to where Essex still stood and motioned for him to join them. "Aren't you planning on eating?"

"All in due time, Emma," Essex said, inclining his head to her. He stretched leisurely and strode to the table, taking the seat beside her. "Your home is lovely," he said to the Malfoys in an attempt to shift the topic of conversation.

Lucius inclined his head to the man. "Thank you, Sir." He then addressed the table at large, gesturing with his left hand at the food on the table: steak, baked potatoes, and green beans prepared by Monika. "Please, feel free to eat." He took a sip from his wine glass.

Augustus could feel that Lauren was watching him, no doubt wondering if they were going to sit. He really had no desire to dine with these people, but he knew he could only stall so long. _Perhaps a few moments more._

It was then that the Dark Lord entered. "My apologies for arriving after you all, I had some business to attend to. I trust the accommodations are to your liking?"

He sat, and Lucius reflexively shifted in his seat to put distance between himself and his master. He picked up his knife and began attempting to cut the steak on his plate, but he was using his non-dominant hand for some reason. With a sigh, he replaced the knife on the table and started on the baked potato.

Essex smiled. "They are perfect," he said. "Quite charming, as I was just telling our hosts." He raised his glass to all of them and took a drink before cutting into his steak.

"Having trouble, Lucius?" the Dark Lord asked quietly, while taking a bite of his own entrée.

Lucius replied with a small shake of his head. "Not at all, My Lord. Simply not hungry for steak." He looked away from and stabbed a green bean with perhaps a bit too much vigor.

The white-haired man at the end of the table looked to Narcissa and bowed his head slightly before speaking.

"This steak is quite delicious. My compliments."

"Thank you very much," said with a rehearsed smile and a nod. The exchange drew the attention of Lucius, who looked to the man.

"I don't believe we've been acquainted, Sir."

The man paused in the cutting of his food and looked up. "I do not believe we have, either. My name is Erik Lehnsherr, though many prefer to refer to me as Magneto. And you are...?"

Lucius nodded. "It's a pleasure, Mr. Lehnsherr. Magneto," he repeated. "I'm Lucius Malfoy."

He then looked back to his plate, where Augustus now noticed there was a charmed knife cutting the steak. Both he and Lucius looked to Narcissa, whose expression was a bit too casual.

"Narcissa," Lucius said under his breath, "this isn't necessary." He reached out and caught the knife, setting it back down by her plate. "But thank you," he added, briefly resting his hand on hers before grudgingly eating what the knife had managed to cut.

Augustus heard a small sound. He looked over at the floor near the head of the table. On the floor near Lucius lay a severed finger. Face going green, Augustus looked up at Lucius's right hand, which he had kept mostly concealed, to find that there were in fact three fingers missing, and that the other two were tipping precariously out of his pocket.

_This is probably as good a time as any to jump in,_ thought Augustus. He regretted letting Lauren stay, now that so many potentially-dangerous people were gathered, but he saw no way around that situation or the awkwardness of watching the Malfoys than to join in the meal. Besides, this would give him a chance to embarrass his host just a bit.

"Er, need a hand, Lucius? You seem to have dropped something."

Lucius blinked and looked to Augustus and Lauren, whose presence he had only just noticed. "What do you mean?" he asked quickly. He then looked down to find the finger on the floor, and he went pale. "I've got it, Augustus. Thank you..." He grabbed it from the floor and replaced it with the others, taking care to slip them all further into his pocket. Looking back to his food, he seemed to lose his appetite and decide on a drink of wine instead.

A young woman walked into the dining room with a scarlet cape trailing behind her, her head held high and her glance straying over her shoulder occasionally as though she was looking for something.

"Hello, Father. Pietro. Everyone." Her eyes widened when she took in just how many people were present. She took a seat beside Magneto and surveyed the assembly.

Her entrance was followed by that of a small woman giving off a purple glow and a blue man with a long tail. Augustus stared. _What in the name of Merlin–?_ He realized after a moment that both of them looked rather depressed, a fact which was not lost on Narcissa.

She stood up and crossed the room to join them, smiling. "Welcome. Please, join us. I'm Narcissa." She then glanced to Rookwood. "Don't be a stranger, Augustus. Hello, Lauren, it's nice to see you."

"You too, Cissy," said Lauren.

Augustus blinked, drawn back out into the real world by Narcissa's voice. The combination of his wounds and seeing Lucius's severed finger lying on the floor had left him quite dizzy, and he had had to stay still for a few moments to keep from getting sick. He nodded to Narcissa, tearing his eyes away from the oddly colored...were they even people? _Guess I'll find out soon enough._ Augustus took his seat, placing his head in his hands to combat a new round of vertigo.

By that time, several others from among the ranks of the Death Eaters had entered and settled into seats the table, and Narcissa had returned to her chair with the two strange newcomers following. Draco and Pietro had continued their argument regarding tomatoes, and Jolie had said something, though Augustus had missed it. He tried to tune back into the conversation and did so just in time to hear the one person speak whom he least wanted to hear.

"I see you've made a friend, Draco," said Lucius, smiling at Pietro. "I'm glad our alliances are working out well for everyone."

_Oh definitely, _thought Augustus sardonically. _You're missing three fingers and I'm still a wreck from blood loss after dealing with one of their kind. Nice try, though._

"Ah, yes, actually," said Draco, turning in his seat a bit to address both his father and the mutant in question. "Though he likes to believe that tomatoes are vegetables, when they are clearly fruits."

"Fruits go in fruit salad!" protested Pietro. "You don't put tomatoes in fruit salad! I tried it once, it was disgusting!"

Nott set his fork down on the table with a frown, looking at no one in particular as he finished chewing a bite of potato. He then glanced from Draco to Pietro and back.

"I put tomatoes in all my salads, fruit or not. And on my burgers." He looked from one of the Death Eaters to the next. "You lot should let me barbecue for you, sometime. I'm not sure it can compare to this," he said as he indicated the food on their plates, "but my wife seems to think I'm good at it."

Draco chuckled and started in on his steak. Pietro wrinkled his nose at Ryan's words.

"I'd have to decline that from a man who puts tomatoes in his fruit salad." He then gave a visible shudder for effect before turning his attention to his plate and eating.

Conversation seemed slow to an awkward halt after that. Augustus didn't particularly like silence, especially if he was trying to distract himself from, well, himself.

"So... anybody seen Daphne?" He owed her a thanks, it seemed.

"No, I haven't." He didn't need to look up to see that it was Narcissa who had answered him, but he felt politeness dictated that he should. When he looked at her, he saw that she appeared a bit confused at his question. "Did anyone tell her supper was ready? I haven't seen her since..." She trailed off, evidently unsure whether mentioning the battle was wise in present company. "This morning. Should I go and check on her?" she asked the table at large, though she was still looking at Augustus.

He raised his eyebrows and fought to keep the sarcasm out of his voice.

"You're the Lady of the House. Why should you have to go fetch people? Surely you have other people to do that."

She frowned and opened her mouth to reply, but no words formed immediately. Before she had a chance to respond, Nott spoke up, still a few topics back in the conversation.

"Oy, Rookwood, remember when we cooked out at your birthday party in... what year was that? I don't remember. Some prat set the grill on fire, and you were trying to put it out, and helping you was–"

He broke off, his eyes landing for the briefest instant on Narcissa before he looked away and took a bite of steak, his cheeks red.

Augustus's eyes closed, and his head went back into his hands for a moment before he went back to his food. He remembered the day Nott spoke of. He didn't want to, though. And he certainly didn't want to talk about it in present company. He most certainly didn't want to talk about it in front of Lauren, who had taken a seat beside him and said nothing thus far.

"_I told all of you to stay back," he called over the roar of the flames. _

_ She laughed, her blond hair falling in front of her face as she leaned forward to get a better shot at the base of the bush that had been overtaken by the grill explosion. _

_ "You really thought I'd let you do this alone? _Aguamenti._" _

_ A jet of water shot from her wand and into the heart of the fire, beginning to put out the bush as he concentrated his own spell on the grill itself. _

_ "I don't want you getting hurt, Daffodil." _

_ "I'll be fine." _

_ She smiled at him, then, and all the worry evaporated from his mind. _

"Yes, I remember."

Augustus chanced the slightest glance upward between bites of food. Narcissa's grip tightened on her fork until her knuckles went white, and at last she had to set it down on the table. She folded her hands beside her plate and sighed, staring down at the polished wood and saying nothing.

"I seem to recall another party that had a lot of great food..." Lucius paused, taking in the silence of the room for a moment. "I believe it was a masquerade." With a smirk, he took a drink.

Augustus's hand twitched, and the glass he was holding cracked, splashing wine onto table. He sat there for a moment in shock that Lucius had actually crossed that line, despite his own short answer. He had been trying to avoid the topic, yet here was Lucius, making it worse, as always.

There was a long pause, and Augustus felt eyes on him, but he would not look up. Without a word, Augustus set down the glass and cleaned up the spilled wine, refusing to reach either Malfoy's eyes.

"Suddenly, I'm not so hungry," said Narcissa, and the sound of a plate being pushed away followed, along with words muttered too low for Augustus to hear that held the air of chastisement. He would have liked to think they were spoken to Lucius, but he would not look to see.

"What's all this?" asked a voice innocently–one Augustus recognized as belonging to Emma. "What happened?" There was a moment's pause, and then she pressed on. "Is it something to do with daffodils? That and... something that happened in a kitchen?"

Augustus's eyes flicked up to see the lingerie-clad blonde fold her hands beside her plate and smirk, and then he glanced to Narcissa, who was staring unblinkingly at Emma.

"Excuse me," she said weakly, pushing back her chair and running from the room without another word.

Pietro's chair fell over, leaving him on the floor behind Emma. A glance at his plate and Narcissa's suggested that he had used his mutant ability to take the rest of her food. Ignoring the falling chair and its former occupant, Augustus looked up at the woman in white sharply.

"Why don't you mind your own goddamn business?"

He stared at her a moment to get his point across before returning to his food, wanting to strangle Nott for bringing this up in the first place.

"Actually, I don't think we will." This came from Selene. "What about those pineapple chocolates and the little black-and-white kitten? And something about a wedding that you arrived to late and left early?"

Augustus's eye twitched as the woman in black spoke tauntingly. He had no idea where she and her counterpart were getting their information, but at the moment, he didn't care. Just as he was about to retort, he heard Lucius slide his chair back and set his silver on the table.

"Perhaps I had better check on Cissy."

Augustus could feel the anger boiling inside him finally reach its peak, and he began to lose his temper.

"And what right have _you_ to do so?! _You're_ the one who let her go to the battle, after all. It's your fault she nearly _died_, earlier! Perhaps you should let her be. Don't you think you've caused enough damage?!"

Lucius whipped out his wand. "_Stupefy._"

Augustus took Lucius's curse with grace, half hoping it would be the Killing Curse. His mind was so clouded with emotions that he hardly felt his head hit the ground. His wand flew from his hand, and he fell face first. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Lucius stride toward him and stand over him, wand pointed at Augustus's back.

"She never loved you," Lucius hissed. Augustus heard the clip of his shoes as he left the room.

Augustus wasn't sure how long he lay there before Lauren rushed to his side.

"_Renervate_," she said hastily. "Are you okay? And... what the bloody hell was that about?"

He didn't thank her. He didn't look at her. He didn't look at anyone. Augustus simply got up and left for his room, not even bothering to retrieve his wand.


	12. Here We Are Juggernaut

**AN: Let's check in on the Ministry and Jean. Also, Rookwood and Nott find the Firewhiskey. I apologize in advance for how unintelligible they get. The chapter title is from the song by Coheed and Cambria. **

**xN**

* * *

**Chapter Twelve**

**Here We Are Juggernaut**

Minister for Magic Rufus Scrimgeour drew his cloak tighter around himself to keep out the steady rain falling on the countryside. He had received word of a terribly large disturbance from his top agents at the Ministry, and he couldn't believe what they had told him. Everything within a three-mile radius from the source of the blast had been decimated, and there was only a single life-sign in the area.

Scrimgeour had drafted Ted Tonks to join him in investigating. Presently, they emerged from a tuft of trees to find...

"Merlin's beard," breathed Scrimgeour. "It's just a crater, now."

Ted gave him a soft pat on the back and said, laughing a bit, "Indeed Minister. Just a crater."

Scrimgeour blinked as Ted started toward the crater. Unwilling to be outdone in his first excursion to the front in years, Scrimgeour followed, his shoes slipping and sliding on the wet dirt slowly on its way to becoming a solid layer of mud. Several minutes passed in silence as the two made their way to the heart of the destruction, and Scrimgeour spotted something on the ground.

"Blimey, Ted–is that... is that a woman?"

Scrimgeour started to run, making his way to where she lay, her red hair fallen around her face and her clothes the likes of which he had never seen.

"How in the world...?"

"How does she look, Minister? Is she still breathing?" asked Ted, sounding genuinely concerned. He glanced around the crater and back to the figure at the center, trying to understand.

Scrimgeour nodded slowly, his mind in a fog. He couldn't understand how one person could cause this much damage, let alone one who looked so... _peaceful_. He supposed that was just because she was unconscious, but nonetheless. He crouched beside her and lightly grasped her wrist, feeling a pulse there. Her chest was rising and falling in a regular pattern, and she appeared perfectly unharmed.

"She is. She seems completely healthy. How is that possible?"

Ted stared at the woman for a long while, trying to sift through his thoughts. Looking up to the sky with the rain pelting his face, he at last let out an audible sigh.

"To tell you the truth... it shouldn't be."

Scrimgeour sighed heavily, his already-overtaxed mind filing away this latest anomaly in a long line of things he had no idea how to face. Lord Voldemort was on the rise, most of the Aurors were either dead or in St. Mungo's, and then there was this woman, lying in the middle of a crater without a scratch, even though she had quite probably blown the surrounding area to bits. And there was no wand on her.

"We need to take her back with us." The Minister lifted her from the ground and shifted her in his arms into a position that would hopefully be comfortable for both of them when he carried her out of the field. "Think your wife's department will be able to figure anything out about her?" he asked Ted.

Ted smiled for an instant at the mention of his wife, and then the expression evaporated as quickly as it had come.

"I'm sure they'll be able to find something out," he said confidently. "A smart lot, they are."

Scrimgeour and Ted walked side by side as they began their assent back up the side of crater. Though Ted was supposed to be scanning the surrounding area for threats, it seemed he couldn't keep himself from taking curious glances at the woman.

"What exactly do you have in mind for her?" he asked. "Where do you intend for her to stay?"

Scrimgeour paused, considering Ted's words and the curiosity behind them carefully before formulating an answer.

"I'm not entirely sure, at the moment. I suppose we'll have to see what our investigation brings." He didn't plan on telling Ted yet of the contingency plans he had already begun to sketch out in his mind. The Department of Mysteries could hold quite a lot, Scrimgeour knew, as could Azkaban. He would have to gauge the threat she possessed before he could know for sure. Ted would only worry, if he knew this. "Perhaps she can be an asset to us, in the coming war."

Ted nodded at the Minister's words and looked straight ahead toward the cloud-darkened horizon.

"An asset, huh?" He chuckled. "Certainly. A woman who can blow holes in the ground like that would definitely be a good person to keep around.

Scrimgeour gave a low laugh, shaking back a bit of the grizzled gray mane that had fallen into his eyes.

"Absolutely. If only she could blow a hole through a certain snake-man, this could end peacefully."

_As peacefully as possible,_ he amended in his mind. _The Death Eaters won't quit. We'll probably have to arrest or kill all of them, but that's a necessary evil._

Rufus Scrimgeour was becoming surprised more and more often by how much evil was really necessary, in the world in which he lived.

There was silence for a long moment, and then Ted spoke again. "Have you heard about what happened at Diagon Alley, yet?"

Scrimgeour drew a long breath and nodded. "I have, and what I've heard worries me more than I can say. I don't know what to believe, anymore. I suppose you'd know; I heard you were there. I also heard more than ten civilians were killed, several of them Hogwarts students. This is worse than I imagined, Ted. They're killing children." The Minister sighed heavily, listening to the rain for a long moment before going on. "What did you see? Can you give me names of the Death Eaters? That might give us something to go on."

Ted nodded and took a deep breath. "There was a lot of violence. I'd say ten fatalities was about correct and there were certainly many more injured. I do recall two names; one I saw personally and the other he identified. Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy."

Scrimgeour blanched at the mention of both Malfoys by name. "That's a shame. I'm sorry; it must be difficult, with Narcissa being your sister-in-law. I can't imagine." He shook his head sadly. "We'll put out warrants on them both."

"One other thing. There was a man there, assisting us with the Death Eaters. I never did get a good look at his face or hear his name, but he fought the wizards with knives and seemed to be holding his own. A couple of older students Apparated him away."

Scrimgeour listened to Ted's account of the battle, and frowning deeply. "With _knives_? Are you quite sure about that? That doesn't sound plausible... but then again, nothing about this war does, anymore. Do you know where they took him?"

Ted shook his head. "I'm afraid I don't. It's strange, though… He should be dead. He was hit by the Killing Curse, but he continued to fight, if only for a moment." Ted rubbed his chin. "By my best guess, they may still be at St. Mungo's."

The Minister nodded, weighing his companion's words before speaking. "We'll leave this one with your wife's department," he said, indicating the woman he carried, "and then we'll investigate the other anomaly. I don't pretend to understand what is happening in our world, but I can promise you that I will get to the bottom of it." There was a fierce light in Scrimgeour's eyes, and he knew with certainty that his words were true. He would get to the bottom of this, or he would die trying.

"I can't think of a better man for the job," said Ted, his voice holding a strange warmth in the cold of the rain.

* * *

Going into his borrowed quarters, Augustus slammed the door behind him. He slid down the door, hitting the ground hard. Looking around the room, his spotted a vase full of flowers. Daffodils, to be exact. They had been there when he arrived at the room. When he had first found them, the flowers were a painful reminder of whose house he was in; painful, but bearable. Not anymore.

Planning on destroying the offending flowers, Augustus reached for his wand before coming up empty, having forgotten that he had left it downstairs in the heat of the moment. He sat there for a moment, his jaw clenched, before getting up and grabbing the vase. Walking toward the window, he threw the vase through it, making a large crash and sending glass everywhere. The sharp pieces tore into his flesh, but he paid the pain no mind as the blood dripped to the floor. He stood there for a moment, staring out of the shattered window at the ground, and for a moment he considered meeting it.

He brought his hand up to rub the bridge of his nose before turning away and falling face-first on the bed, staining the white sheets forever red with blood.

He lay there motionless for what felt like years. Eventually, he was greeted by the sound of the door opening. Augustus heard someone speak, though he didn't pay enough attention to figure out to whom the voice belonged. He could do nothing but muster up a short response which would work for anyone it could be.

"Go. The. Hell. Away."

Footsteps followed, and then someone sat down beside him, giving his shoulder a slight shake.

"Not likely, mate. It looks like you could use some company and maybe a good vent. If you want to talk, well, I've got nowhere to be."

_Ass. Does he really think I want company right now?_ However, seeing as it was Nott who spoke, it was likely he did have something with him that Augustus wouldn't mind right now... _Bingo!_ Flipping himself into a sitting position slowly, Augustus grabbed the bottle of Firewhiskey from Ryan and took a long swig. It tasted like poison going down his throat, and Augustus hated himself for drinking the stuff that he had grown up hating. He'd only ever gotten drunk twice in his life. The last time had been years ago, the night after...the memory made him take another deep gulp.

Nott's eyes widened, though he didn't resist when Rookwood took the bottle.

"There's some progress. Now c'mon, Rooky. What can I do?"

Augustus could feel the Firewhiskey affecting his brain already, and he took another swig to progress it even faster, hoping he could numb himself for a while.

"What can ya do? How 'bout shutn' the hell up?" He ran his hand through his hair, looking out the destroyed window. "It's not like ya don' know exactly what's goin' on anyways."

Nott sighed. "You know I won't shut up. And yeah, I know." He followed Augustus's gaze through the window and took a deep breath before going on. "I don't agree with what Lucius did, mate, but you had to know you were askin' for trouble gettin' involved with those two." Ryan shook his head sadly. "I woulda done the same, mind you–didn't I tell him not to bring her with us? I knew it was a bad idea. I think he knows it was his fault, and that's why he reacted like that. And for what it's worth, I always thought it should've been you with her."

Augustus laughed loudly, with an edge as hard and sharp as the glass embedded in the slashes covering his arm and shoulder. _All the people in this house, and this guy, with whom I've had issues since shortly after Hogwarts, is my only ally? Wow, I'm a sorry little S.O.B., aren't I?_

"Yeah, thanks fer that, Nottie ol' boy, but thoughts and wishes don' exactly change things."

Nott shrugged heavily. "If they could, a lot of things would be different." There was a pause. "You want I should hex someone? I gotta take out all this stress somehow, and I'll leave the breaking windows to you. Seriously, though, a bit of target practice might do you some good."

Augustus grinned. "I think a bit a target practice would lead ta' some dead people." His mind was doing rather weird things, and it decided to land on Nott's late son Theodore, followed by the Greengrass girl who seemed so attached to the boy's good name. "Speakin' o' dead people, wha's the histr'y between yer son 'n' the Greengr'ss girl? Still haven' figured out why she 'exed me."

Nott's face fell, and he sighed heavily. "They were in love," he said bluntly. "Theo never told me this, but I had suspicions they were planning on gettin' married. They were always talkin' about the future, a long time from now. I came to think of her as my daughter, and I guess I still do." At this, he grabbed the bottle and took a drink of Firewhiskey.

"Huh. Guess tha' makes sense." Augustus was too drunk to really tell if it made sense or not, but he couldn't bring himself to care. For now, he couldn't feel any hurt, couldn't recall any old memories, and couldn't give a damn.

"Yeah, guess it does. Rooky, wha' are you playin' at insulting him so often? Merlin forbid Lauren dies, wha' would you do to me if I said half of that rubbish about her?"

Augustus laughed again, though there was some actual humor in it this time. Only a little, and self-deprecating at that, but it was humor none the less.

"Prob'ly the same 's you. I do 't mos'ly ta get a rise outta ya. Guess'm jus' 'n' ass like tha'."

Despite himself and the conversation at hand, Ryan echoed Augustus's laugh.

"A bit of 'n ass, yeah. But so 'm I, so it s'okay. We're wha' keeps things interesting 'round this place." Nott gestured wildly around the room for emphasis. "Seems like bein' 'n ass comes wi' th' territory, 'n our lot."

Augustus brought the bottle to his lips, tipping it back. "So 't would seem. 'n now we 'ave all these new'ns ta deal w't. Wonder how they'll turn ou'. Can' say I g't much 'ope fer the two 'n the sl't clothes."

Ryan laughed heartily. "No, th' one grabbed Malfoy's pants an' th' other chucked a dish at my head." He frowned, staring off into space for a moment before looking back at Rookwood. "How the bloody 'ell did she do that? She di'nt have a wand!"

"D'n know." Augustus sat there for a moment, his intoxicated brain sludging up a thought. "Ma'b the same way she go' 'n' m' 'ead 'n' found ou' what I was think'n'. Wha' freaks."

Nott frowned. "Tha's messed up. Well, they're mutants, righ'? Wonder wha' that really means. Good a' Legilimency? Well, then there's the weird-colored ones to consider."

"I thou' a mu'nt was some kinda g'ne'c messup. Like a three-'eaded l'zard er somethin'. No' thin's tha' 'r' s'pposed ta be 'uman." Augustus hadn't really looked at the two strange colored ones much, save for when he first walked into the room. He had tried not to stare, and then once he had sat down he was far too distracted to bother with those particular mutants. "Does'n really matter ta me. Anythin' tha' 'angs wi' the two sl'ts 's nobody I wan' around."

"Yeah, agreed... th' Dark Lord won' pu' up wi' sh't from any of 'em." Nott shrugged and shook his head blearily. "He doesn' pu' up wi' it from us, so I don' think there'll be too many problems. Merlin, 'e Crucio'd Jolie th' other day 'cause he though' she was followed. Imagine wha' he'd do 'f 'e 'ad real reason t' dislike ya."

Augustus snickered. "Ya know ezacly what e'do. Kill 'em. On th' spot."

Ryan nodded unsteadily, smirking. "Then why 'r so many 'f us still alive? Merlin knows s'many of us give 'im reason."

Trying to think of a response to Nott, Augustus was struck with a blast of cold air. He immediately regretted his destruction of the window. The wind really wouldn't have been that bad, if his entire left side wasn't wet with blood.

"Go' da'm! L'ks like th'sll be a fun ni'."

Nott shivered in the sudden draft. "Bet'r cov'r up, don' need to be gettin' sick." He stretched and slid to his feet. "I best be getting' to sleep. Hope yer feelin bet'r. Keep th' whiskey." He saluted Augustus and stumbled out the door.

Lifting his hand to his head, Augustus gave Ryan what could pass for a salute before taking another swig of the Firewhiskey and grabbing the blanket. He didn't have to wait for sleep; the Firewhiskey had done the trick. He had passed out long before his head hit the bed.


	13. Jaded

**AN: _Be warned._ This chapter is the beginning of why this fic is rated a strong M. _There is smut ahead. _Also, there's an argument, Monika reacts to being hugged out of nowhere, Lucius gets his fingers back, and... yeah, smut. **

* * *

**Chapter Thirteen**

**Jaded**

Narcissa rushed into the room and slammed the door behind her, throwing her back against it and staring up at the ceiling as the tears began to slip from her eyes. _Why the hell did they have to go and bring that up? Why can't they just let it stay in the past?_

She couldn't bear to stay downstairs and listen to wherever the conversation went next. The mention of the masquerade had twisted something within her, and she knew if she stayed, she would end up hexing someone, screaming at the top of her lungs, or running out the front door. She did her best not to think about the time she had spent with Augustus. It was less painful, that way; not remembering was easier than telling herself that everything was okay. But really, to bring up ancient history in front of Merlin-knows-who and then to pass it off as not mattering? Narcissa didn't know who she was the angriest with, in that moment. Nott for bringing up that time in her life, Augustus for letting the subject go as if it didn't matter, Lucius for having to one-up him for reasons Narcissa couldn't guess at, or those 'women' who insisted on digging where their scantily-clad hands didn't belong–metaphorically and literally. If Narcissa had stayed, she probably would have thrown up on someone.

She realized then that Monika was in the room. Narcissa opened her mouth to ask for her privacy, but she immediately shut it again and rushed forward, throwing her arms around her servant's neck and burying her face in her shoulder as she clung to her tightly.

"_Ach! Was machst du? Was ist denn hier los? Bin ich in Schwierigkeiten oder so etwas? Frau Malfoy, fühlst du dich in Ordnung?_"

Narcissa had absolutely no idea what Monika was saying; the only thing she picked up was her name. She realized how absolutely insane she must appear to the girl right then, and she pulled herself backward, looking into Monika's eyes while tears shone in her own.

"Oh, I'm so sorry, Monika. I don't know what's come over me. I'm just so... tonight has been so awful." Narcissa rubbed at her eyes and took a deep breath, trying to get control of herself, but within about three seconds, she was hugging Monika again and trying not to weep. Monika patted her awkwardly on the back, at a loss as to what to say or do.

Narcissa heard the door open, but she stubbornly refused to look up.

"Monika, go tend to the guests, please. I need to be alone with your mistress."

Despite her unwillingness to look, Lucius's tone caught Narcissa off guard, and she had to see for herself. He was standing with one foot in the room and his hand on the door, looking as miserable as she felt.

_Good,_ she thought bitterly. _He helped bring this on me._ Her anger overpowering her sadness, she looked to Monika.

"No, don't go. There's nothing we can't say in front of her," Narcissa said curtly.

Lucius sighed heavily. "Fine. Then tell us both exactly why you're upset."

He stepped fully into the room and closed the door. After an instant, his mouth pressed into a line, and it was clear that he hadn't meant his words to come off the way they had–as though he didn't understand her feelings. Narcissa, though, was beyond caring that he regretted his slip. Her eyes widened and her jaw tightened. She moved toward him until they were inches apart, and then she looked up into his face.

"You had to mention the masquerade, didn't you? To prove something, to make things that much worse for him? It was bad enough that Ryan had to go digging up the past, and Augustus was going to let it slide, I think, but then..." She cried out in frustration. "Merlin, Lucius, how much worse did it get after I left?"

He stared at her. "I... had to make things worse... _for him?_ Are you serious? I suppose it doesn't matter that Nott had to go and bring up what was unquestionably the worst period of my life–yes, that does mean worse than _Azkaban_–and throw it in my face like that. I'm sorry if I had to remind myself how the story ended so that I didn't sit there lost in my own personal hell while they relived the good days." He was obviously wounded, but he was trying to hide it behind frustration. "And... it doesn't matter what happened after you left. Things have been dealt with."

Narcissa's anger was pierced by sympathy, and she realized something: in her own reflections on those years long ago, she had never realized what it must have been like for Lucius to talk or hear about them. After all, she had been with Augustus after she had broken off her engagement to Lucius, a period in which Lucius had spent every waking moment trying to win her back, despite her obstinate efforts not to give in. She had come to her senses and finally made sense out of her feelings eventually, and then they were reengaged, her love for Lucius eclipsing everything she had ever felt for anyone else, including Augustus. But what of that time when they hadn't been as they were now? It was difficult for her to revisit, but she understood now that it was just as difficult for him to remember that feeling of loss that she had only ever had in small doses where relationships were concerned, though she had felt it in abundance when losing family members.

Narcissa sighed. "I just don't want to hurt anyone. I don't want to talk about things that no one can change. It happened. But it's in the past, and what we don't need right now is to destroy our ranks from within by turning people against each other who should be working together. I don't want to cause any more damage than I already have. Don't help me hurt him more."

A long moment passed in which they stood there, looking into each other's eyes. Then Lucius took a deep breath.

"Do you love him?"

Narcissa had seen it coming, but that didn't stop the fresh wave of tears from spilling down her cheeks. She figured she might as well answer honestly; they had come this far, and they couldn't go back.

"I did, once. But do you know when I stopped? That night at the masquerade, when you held me and told me how much it meant to you that I didn't run away when I found out it was you behind that mask–when you showed up at my window with a white rose and you told me you'd give anything to make things right between us. Lucius, I did love Augustus, once. But I've never loved anyone as much as I love you."

Lucius seemed to crumble. His eyes shone like he might begin to weep, but he held himself back. He took her in his arms and pulled her close, resting his chin on the top of her head while he rubbed her back.

"That's all I needed to know. I'll never speak of it again, if you don't want me to. Not even if the others do."

Narcissa didn't resist when he pulled her to him. His words were a surrender, and she was too exhausted physically and mentally to keep going with this. "Thank you."

She remembered after what must have been quite a while that Monika was still in the room. Narcissa was glad Monika had stayed–she felt stronger when she felt like someone was on her side, and though she knew she couldn't take sides between the two of them, she liked to think Monika would have chosen hers. She didn't ask. She imagined the servant girl felt terribly awkward listening to all that, and so Narcissa addressed her.

"And thank you, Monika. You're dismissed." She gave the girl a small smile.

Monika bowed her head and made her way out the door, closing it behind her as she left.

When Monika had gone, Narcissa returned her full attention to Lucius. In all of the confusion and anger, she had almost forgotten what had transpired before dinner.

"How does your hand feel?"

She reached behind her to find it where it rested on her lower back, grabbing it gently and looking down to find that the place where the fingers had been had begun again to bleed.

"It's fine," said Lucius. "I'm exhausted," he added after a moment in an obvious effort to change the subject. "Aren't you?"

He slipped away and started to change for bed. Narcissa nodded somewhat grudgingly, not finished talking but truly exhausted. She began rifling through the dresser somewhat absentmindedly, and it was then that she heard the slight 'thump' of something hitting the floor. She glanced up to see a few things sticking out of the pocket of Lucius's discarded pants that looked a lot like…

"You're not serious."

He picked the pants surreptitiously off the floor and attempted a casual expression. She strode across the room and tugged them from his hands and retrieved from the pocket, just as she'd known she would, three fingers. A wave of nausea rolled through her stomach.

"Lost them in the battle, hmm?" She looked up at him sharply. "Then explain this."

Lucius sighed. He reached out to take the fingers back, but she held them away from him. He seemed to mentally debate what to tell her for a moment, and then he drew a deep breath.

"It wasn't the battle," he said weakly. "The Dark Lord punished me for my failure today."

Narcissa caught her breath, and part of her wished she hadn't asked. She hadn't been prepared for that, though she knew she should have seen it coming. Of course it was the Dark Lord's fault. Wasn't everything?

"That's insane." Her voice was small, and she couldn't muster anger in her tone, though she was more furious at the Dark Lord than she had ever known she could be. Her mind didn't want to let her take it out on Lucius, for which she was grateful. "Come here."

She grabbed his arm and pulled him toward the bed, gently pushing him down onto it while she went into the bathroom to rifle through the cabinets. She found a bottle of Skele-Gro and a glass and returned to the main room.

"I don't like the looks of this," mumbled Lucius as she reentered, making a face at the bottle in her hand. "Are you sure staying like this isn't an option? I think I could get used to staying away from steak and wearing shirts without buttons."

Narcissa rolled her eyes, smiling. "You wouldn't have to if you'd let me help you. Now hold still." She sat down beside him and poured some of the Skele-Gro into the glass, passing it to Lucius as she produced the fingers from where she had set them on the bedside table before leaving the room. "Drink that, and then I'll try out a spell I know."

Lucius grimaced as he took the glass and stared down into its liquid depths. "Couldn't I just–" He stopped cold when he saw how sharply she was looking at him, and he downed the glass's contents without another word. Coughing and spluttering, he set it on the bedside table. "Yes, just as awful as I remember."

"Don't be that way," Narcissa said, her tone half-chastising, half-amused at his expression. "Here." She grabbed his hand and produced her wand. The muscles in his hand tightened reflexively, and she could only imagine what had happened the last time someone took a wand to it. "Just relax."

She moved the first of the fingers–the middle one–back to where it should have been attached. She then closed her eyes and focused all of her willpower on the one non-verbal spell she had learned that might be of any use to them right now. A few seconds later, she opened her eyes to find to her delight that the spell had worked. The finger had been reattached. She repeated the process with the other two, and then she smiled triumphantly.

"I think it's done."

His eyes wide in amazement, Lucius flexed the muscles in his fingers, finding them once again at his disposal. "I have no idea how you did that, but thank you, rose." He used his regenerated hand to take hers, and then he leaned forward and kissed her. "I don't know what I would do without you."

"You would be lost," Narcissa teased, smiling. She tried not to think of the situation in reverse, because she really didn't know what she would do without _him_. She may have saved his hand, but within the same day, he had saved her life. She had never realized until joining him in battle just how life-threatening each mission was and in how much danger everyone put themselves in just by walking out the door. Lucius had always told her that she worried too much, and maybe he was right. But Narcissa knew, now, that she would always worry that much more when he left on some task for the Dark Lord.

She didn't dwell on the fact that today was the first time she had watched him kill someone. A student, nonetheless; probably around Draco's age. She managed to keep herself from shuddering at the thought, but she had a feeling it would haunt both her waking and sleeping hours indefinitely. She had always known in theory what it meant to be a Death Eater, but she had never really understood until today.

She couldn't reconcile the man hurling curses in the street at defenseless civilians with the one sitting beside her, on whose shoulder she presently rested her head. Maybe they were one in the same, but she couldn't see it.

"I would, indeed." He slipped his arm around her waist and ran his thumb over her ribs, and a chill went through her. "Completely lost." He kissed the top of her head, and as she closed her eyes, his lips moved first to her cheek and then to her lips, where they lingered for a long moment. "You have no idea," he breathed. He then gently lifted her chin and tilted it away as his lips slid to her neck.

"I do," she said breathlessly. "Still not as lost as I would be without you."

She searched out the buttons on his shirt and began to unfasten them. Without removing his lips from her neck, he shifted to face her and lifted her onto his lap. She freed the last of the buttons and pulled the shirt free, dropping it to the floor. When his hands returned to her, they went to work unzipping her dress and sliding it off, letting it fall to the carpet beside his shirt. His left hand then drew her lips to his while the right rested on the small of her back and pulled her to him.

"Glad–you can use–the hand again?" she asked between kisses.

He laughed, and she shivered. "Indescribably."

His hands ran up her waist, feeling the long bones of her corset. She gasped as his thin fingers grazed the bottom of her breast before returning to her small waist. She rubbed her hands up and down his chest, feeling the hard, but not overly beefy muscles. Thus distracted, she didn't realize he had unlaced her corset until it fell to the floor and he took her right breast in his hand, massaging it gently. She moaned as his thumb grazed her hard peak; though it was nothing compared to when he took it into his hot mouth. His hand massaged her neglected breast as her hand went up and tangled itself in his hair.

As he switched breasts, she took a hand from his hair and slid it down his chest until she held a rather large bulge in his pants. He groaned as she rubbed his hardened length before her ministrations were stopped by his hands rubbing circles at her opening through the cloth of her underwear. Laying her on the bed, Lucius pulled down her underwear slowly, staring her in the eyes the entire time.

Once the offending piece of clothing had been removed, he slowly kissed his way up Narcissa's legs. She groaned in anticipation as he teased her with his slow assent, before finally he kissed her lower lips, and a low moan escaped her throat. Soon, his tongue went to work between her folds, and she gripped the back of his head, pulling him forward and trapping him against her. He shifted his attention to her bud, sucking roughly. Narcissa's moan was shamefully loud as she came, but she could hardly care less at the moment. She could feel the hot coil in her stomach tightening as two of Lucius' fingers joined his tongue, finally driving her to break, her vision flashing white.

Lucius looked up at his work and smirked, seeing her lying there limp and panting. He quickly stripped himself of his underwear before returning to hover over her, kissing her passionately on the mouth. Her juices still glinted on his face, and she stared at him with lust-filled eyes.

"Ready, rose?" He asked, positioning himself at her entrance.

In response, she wrapped her legs around his waist and impatiently pulled him closer. Smiling, he entered her with more care than he would have once upon a time; the time he had spent in Azkaban had left her rather tight and he didn't wish to hurt her. His caution proved unneeded, as a low groan escaped her throat as soon as the first stroke hit. Speeding up, he kept one arm to the side for balance, while the other roamed her familiar body, ghosting over her delicate waist and toying with the rosy buds in the center of her creamy swells.

Narcissa met his hips thrust for thrust, temporarily banishing her stress and worry in passion and bliss. Her voice rose with that of her husband, and the room was filled with the sound of their combined gasps and moans and ecstasy. It didn't take long before they gave into each other's strong movements, and as Lucius spilled himself with in her, she met him with an orgasm of her own, milking him of all that she could get.

The two lay there for a moment, still joined and panting, still reeling from the trip to heaven. At length, Lucius pulled out of her, and she grunted from the loss. Lying beside her, he pulled her against him and kissed her softly. She returned it hazily, tired from the exertion. He moved to rest his face in her hair.

"I love you, Narcissa." Lucius said gently, but passionately. She didn't reply. He raised up a bit to see if everything was alright, but he chuckled as he saw her face. He kissed her nose as he realized she had already fallen asleep, smiling and clutching to him, and he lay down to join her in sleep.


End file.
